


Scathed

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [67]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Family Dynamics, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Non-Linear Narrative, POV Brian Kinney, POV Daphne Chanders, POV Gus (Queer as Folk), POV Justin Taylor, Post-Series, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-25
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-15 05:00:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 23,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3434480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Molly's wedding weekend ought to be a joyful occasion; a time for togetherness and celebration. Unfortunately, it's not quite that simple. Justin is furious with his father, Brian is desperately trying to avoid Gus, and Daphne is struggling to reconcile being asked to play peacekeeper and wanting to punch Craig Taylor in the face. As the weekend progresses and tensions rise, the only thing that seems sure is that nobody is escaping unscathed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Aftermath

"That was a fucker of a weekend," Brian spits, tossing his suitcase in the general direction of the walk-in. He cringes as it screeches across the hardwood floor, leaving behind a faint but ugly scrape. He'd forgotten about the busted wheel - the one that Justin did in by kicking it a couple of nights ago. Well, fuck. He stares at the floor's freshly marred surface, expecting to feel frustrated. It never eventuates. All he feels is envy; the floor got off easy. Brian would take a light scrape over how he feels right now.

He quickly shifts the suitcase over the scrape, concealing it mere moments before Justin stomps into the bedroom and collapses onto their bed. Brian eyes him warily, worried now more than ever. He had expected that Justin wouldn't take very kindly to the weekend's events (or, rather, certain guests who deserve to remain nameless), but Brian didn't expect his bad mood to follow them all the way back to New York. Very carefully, he asks, "You okay, Sunshine?"

Justin grimaces up at the ceiling. "Do I look very sunshiney to you right now?"

He doesn't, not at all. There's barely been a glimmer from him all weekend. Feeling a soft bloom of sympathy, Brian goes and lies down next to his raincloud of a husband. He sifts his fingers through Justin's silky hair and murmurs encouragingly, "You did good."

"I did not," Justin mutters, frowning. "The entire weekend was a goddamned disaster. I wish it had never happened. We never should have gone."

"And miss Molly's wedding?" Brian nudges him. "Don't be stupid. You loved it."

"I loved seeing Molly getting married, yes," Justin concedes tersely. "I didn't love the other 95% of it. I fucking hated it. It was the worst weekend of my life."

Brian turns in towards him and locks their hands together. It doesn't assuage his worry one bit when Justin immediately latches on with a painfully tight grip. Brian ignores the slight ache in his somewhat-crushed fingers and continues in his quest to talk things through. "I kind of lost you in all the chaos. What happened?"

Very snidely, Justin retorts, "Exactly what you think happened. It's not rocket science, Bri."

"That's not an answer, Sunshine. I can guess, and I'd probably be in with a chance at guessing right, but it's not the same as hearing it from you."

Justin scowls (he's beginning to look like more of a stormcloud now, to Brian's dismay) and sighs. "First, you tell me what happened with you. Gus said you were dodging him all of Friday and Saturday."

"Fucking little tattletale," Brian complains, but there's no heat to it. After all, Gus was only being honest. Brian is exhausted from his dedicated attempts to evade his son for most of the weekend. Gus won in the end, though. He always does. Although maybe it's not 'winning', considering the weekend ended in tears for both of them.

But Brian isn't ready to think about that yet, let alone talk about it. He squeezes Justin's hand and says, in a tone brimming with affection, "I want to hear about you."

Wincing, Justin mumbles miserably, "Where do I even start?" 

Each and every word is laden with dread and dejection. Brian eases closer to the poor kid (although, maybe at thirty-three, Justin isn't much of a kid anymore) and kisses his shoulder. "Start with that creepy fucking meeting the bastard summoned you too."

"Oh," Justin says flatly. Then his eyes narrow and bitterness sparks in his voice:  _"That._ Yeah, let's start with that, shall we?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was admittedly a very brief beginning to the story - but rest assured, the following chapters will be much more substantial. This is something I've been writing/rewriting for a while and I'm finally feeling sure about the direction in which I would like to take it. As always, I would love to hear your thoughts and appreciate any and all feedback :) Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoy it!


	2. Charades

"Keep your cool, okay?" Brian says under his breath as Justin knocks on the door to Molly's suite.

Justin is so irritated by the request that he stops mid-knock and snaps, "You keep  _your_ fucking cool."

"Off to a great start, I see," Brian drawls. Before Justin can snap back again, Brian slips an arm around his waist and pulls him in close. The anger melts right away. Justin leans into him a little and waits with sinking trepidation for the door to open and for their hellish weekend to begin.

It's no small relief when Daph opens the door and instantly hugs the both of them. She kisses Brian's cheek, then his, then whispers, "Craig isn't here. He's downstairs."

That brightens Justin's mood instantly. He kisses Daph and then goes to greet everyone else. It's a nice crowd; his mom, Gus, and Molly are all waiting in the suite. He can deal with this crowd, no problem.

It's the asshole downstairs that's the fucking problem.

But Justin forgets about that in the midst of all the reunions. Of course, his mother makes a beeline for Brian and wraps him up in one of her big mama bear hugs. Justin smiles at the sight; in the months since Brian opened up about his family, Justin has grown ever more grateful for their bond. Meanwhile, Molly sweeps him up in a hug and says softly, "I'm so glad you came."

"Of course I came," Justin says, feeling a strong twang of guilt. "I wouldn't miss this, Mol."

She squeezes him tight, then tosses a quick grin his way as she goes to greet Brian. Justin them finds himself with an armful of Gus, who has - once again - shot up to some unthinkable height. Justin holds him close and grumbles, "Will you stop growing, already?"

"Nope," Gus says cheerfully. Justin stifles a sigh; it's strange, having Gus in his arms and realising how much he's grown. Momentarily, he's filled with longing for the little boy who used to fit in his embrace like a pea in a pod. Then, cruelly, his train of thought takes a sharp right:  _When was the last time your father held you?_ _  
_

As if on cue, Molly pipes up and says brightly, "Justin, dad wants to see you."

She either doesn't notice or doesn't care that everyone else has frozen and fallen into an unbearably awkward silence. Molly merely carries on, explaining that their father is downstairs in Room 316 and has been waiting for Justin to arrive. As Justin stares helplessly around at the others (Gus is scowling at the floor, his mom is fiddling with her bracelet, and Daph and Brian are both doing terribly at hiding their scorn), Molly continues on happily, "He said he'd like to have some time to catch up with you. Isn't that nice?"

"That's super nice," Gus enthuses with a huge, horribly fake grin. Justin nudges him and he stops, but it probably doesn't matter; Molly doesn't seem to have picked up on his sarcasm. 

"Just me?" Justin queries, looking pleadingly towards the others. Gus snorts softly. His mom grimaces and shakes her head slightly. Brian and Daph are staring at each other accusingly, as if they're engaged in some telepathic debate about who should volunteer for this undesirable task.

"He said it would be nice to have some one-on-one time," Molly explains, smiling at him winningly. "He'd really like it, Justin."

"Okay." Justin forces himself to shrug, as though what's being asked of him isn't totally ghastly. Upon noticing Molly's expectant expression, he asks, "Uh, do you mean... now?"

"Now," she confirms placidly. "Is that okay?"

From across the room, Daph is mouthing  _bride_ at him. Justin sighs. It's time to hop to it, apparently. "Sure, that's okay. I'll, uh... I'll see you guys later."

As he goes to leave, Brian joins him, offering, "I'll walk you out. I'd better unpack our stuff."

"I can help," Gus offers suddenly. It's not just sudden; there's a sense of absolute urgency to it that Justin finds quite perplexing. 

"It's fine," Brian says evasively, waving him off. "Stay here. Tell Jen about your writing."

Gus visibly deflates, but Brian doesn't seem to care. He's in too much of a rush to get out of the room; he's so eager that he's almost pushing Justin out into the hall. Something about the exchange nags at Justin, but he hasn't the time nor energy to deal with it. So he lets Brian jostle him out of the room. As soon as Brian has shut the door behind them, Justin asks bluntly, "I don't actually have to do this, right? I mean... come on."

"It's bullshit," Brian mutters. "But it's obviously important to Molly. Do it for her, Sunshine."

Justin knows he ought to, but it seems like such an impossibly undesirable task. He doesn't want to go and have some bizarre meeting with his bastard non-father; especially not all by himself. He grabs the lapels of Brian's jacket and asks sweetly, "Come with me?"

Brian coughs out a laugh. "I don't think that'll help. Go on, go see him. If he pisses you off, then come find me. Okay?"

"Ugh," Justin huffs, scowling. It's really not, but he supposes it will simply have to be. He kisses Brian quickly and forces himself to say, "Okay."

*

He takes the stairs. After descending one flight, Justin pauses for a moment and leans against the wall. For a while, all he thinks of is leaving. Bailing on all of this. Getting the hell out of dodge. 

... only it would break Molly's heart, and he can't have that. 

So he'll have to stay. But he doesn't want to. He really doesn't. He's had months to prepare himself for this moment, but it's made no difference - Justin is riddled with childish anxieties and sinking, sobering dread. He hasn't seen Craig in a decade. The thought of it almost makes him laugh, for ten years seems like an absurd amount of time. It doesn't make any sense; shouldn't those ten years have done something to ease his worries?

Suddenly, a door creaks open; a few levels up, someone has entered the stairwell. He sighs as he hears their footfalls descending towards him. Justin hurries to collect himself and charges down the remaining flight of stairs and out into the third floor corridor. 

Craig's room is halfway down on his left. Though he's tempted to hold back, Justin forces himself to push forward. He strides with feigned confidence towards the door and knocks on it forcefully. The loud raps echo a little through the otherwise empty corridor. Justin takes a step back and waits. He can hear movement inside the room; as it grows nearer, dread webs its way through him. It has completely ensconced him by the time the lock clicks and the door swings open.

"Justin," Craig says. He's smiling, but it's thin and weak. His eyes flick over Justin, assessing him carefully. "How are you?"

Justin hears himself saying 'fine' and tastes the lie on his tongue. The acidity of it lingers. They exchange mild, meaningless pleasantries with tension threaded between them. Eventually (it honestly feel like hours drag by, though it's barely seconds), Craig invites him in. Justin forces himself to accept the invitation without hesitation. He walks into the room, feeling as though he ought to duck for cover. It's enemy territory, isn't it? That's how it seems. Even with his father  _(stop thinking of him like that, he's not, so **stop it** ) _forcing that smile at him and trying his best to be sociable, Justin feels entirely unsafe.

It's as though he's a puppet suspended on multiple strings. They keep tugging him to and fro, wrenching him in odd directions. Molly wanted him to do this, so he did. Craig invites him to sit down, so he does. To and fro, to and fro. 

When Craig offers him a drink, Justin almost blurts out 'yes please' in utter desperation. The mention of a drink pools the taste of alcohol into his mouth, tempting him. A drink would surely help. It would soothe his ragged nerves and anesthetize him ahead of this looming conversation. Despite all of this, Justin refuses. He doesn't want to share a drink with this person. It seems too familiar for his liking. So he says no and then asks, "Why did you invite me here?"

"To the wedding?" Craig frowns. "I thought you wanted to be here for Molly."

"Of course I want to be here for Molly. I don't mean the wedding, I mean... here. To your room. Why am I sitting here right now?"

"I thought we should talk," Craig says, pausing to toss back his drink, "About the weekend ahead. I want to discuss how we're going to proceed."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning," Craig says solemnly, "That this is your little sister's big day. She's getting married, Justin."

"I know." Justin smiles as pleasantly as he possibly can. "She was asking me for advice recently. About married life, you know?"

The flicker of irritation across Craig's features is all too satisfying. Childishly electing to chase that feeling, Justin brags, "Brian and I have been married for six years now."

In an entirely baron tone, Craig offers his congratulations. Justin almost punctuates it with a loud, incredulous laugh. He barely manages to contain it. Being in this room reminds him of hiding backstage during St. James' drama club with Daph; once again, he's bearing witness to some of the worst acting known to mankind. 

Craig swishes his glass from side to side in a poor imitation of nonchalance. As the ice cubes clink in a disjointed little melody, he muses, "You know, I'm paying for the wedding."

Justin's defenses raise immediately. He knows  _exactly_ where his father is going with this.  _I paid, so you do as I say._ Well, fuck that. Justin smiles at him again and assumes his most condescending tone. "You know, Craig, if it's any trouble... you needn't be afraid to ask. Brian and I are more than capable of covering any outstanding costs."

It's downright giddying, seeing anger flash in Craig's eyes. But before Justin can really revel in that victory, Craig puts an abrupt stop to it by saying, "Let's talk about that."

"About money? Sure."

Craig smiles at him pityingly, as though he's weary of Justin's childishness. "About how you're going to refer to me. I don't think 'Craig' is appropriate for this weekend, do you?"

The smile falls from Justin's face. "How would you like me to refer to you?"

"I'd like for us to present a united front. We ought to enter into this weekend as father and son, don't you think?"

Justin wants to laugh. He imagines it: laughing until it frays around the edges and warps, mutating into yelling and screaming. How good it would feel to confront the bastard right here, right now, by laughing in his face and then calling him out on how utterly fucked up all of this is. They haven't seen each other in ten years, and now he wants to play doting dad?  _Fuck him._

But as good as it would feel to verbally eviscerate Craig, it's not going to do anyone any favours. Justin remembers what was printed in looping cursive on the invitations:  _Come and share in our celebration of love and unity._ That's what Molly wants. He can't really do fuck all about the first part, but he can make an attempt at unity.

That is - of course - if Craig can do the same.

Justin nods and agrees, "I think that's a great idea."

"Really?" Craig blurts out. Immediately, he looks embarrassed and annoyed with himself. It only lasts a moment, but it's a moment which gives Justin great satisfaction.

"Really," Justin confirms, smiling. "I'll happily refer to us as father and son."

He waits for a split second, then adds, "Just so long as you include Brian and Gus in this."

Craig frowns. "Excuse me?"

"Well, Brian's your son-in-law, and Gus is your grandson, so-"

"Justin," Craig snaps, spitting out the two syllables as if they were vile, "Don't push it, okay?"

He pretends that he doesn't already know the answer to that, and queries, "How am I pushing it?" 

Craig stares at him for a long while, his gaze alternating between furious, helpless, and disbelieving. At long last, he huffs, "I hardly think that your..."

"Husband," Justin supplies happily. He runs his thumb over his ring; to Craig, it might look like a pointed gesture, but he's really only seeking out comfort.

"That man," Craig says coldly, "Doesn't want to see me as his father-in-law. And as for that child you call yours, I don't know him. How can I call myself his grandfather?"

"How can you call yourself my father?"

When this question is met with nothing but silence, Justin stands up abruptly and heads towards the door. "No dice, Craig - either you acknowledge my husband and son, or forget it."

Before leaving, he turns around and stares evenly at the bastard. "What's it going to be?"

Craig stares back, shaking his head ever so slightly. With evident resentment, he says, "Fine. I'll acknowledge them. Just don't make a scene, okay?"

Indignation rises up, so hot that it blisters its way through his insides. Justin narrows his eyes at his father and echoes, "Make a scene?"

Apparently Craig doesn't wish to elaborate. Skirting around that issue, he imparts icily, "This is your sister's weekend. It's not about you or your... family. This weekend is about Molly. Understood?"

"Understood," Justin says, and then he leaves. He doesn't slam the door - though he's tempted to indulge his temper, Justin knows it won't help. So he closes the door quietly and heads for the stairs.

When he arrives back at his room, Gus is waiting outside. He's leaning against the doorframe, biting his nails. Justin goes to him and pulls his hand away from his mouth; it's a nasty little habit that Gus can't help but indulge. Half the time, he doesn't even seem to realise he's doing it. Apparently this is one of those times. Gus blushes and jams his hands into his pockets, then mumbles, "Thanks, Jus."

"Don't worry about it," Justin says vacantly. He swipes the keycard and opens the door, letting Gus in first. "What's up?"

"I wanted to talk to dad." Gus glances around, his brow furrowing. Justin follows his gaze and realises that they're alone in the suite. Gus heaves a sigh. "I came up here, but he wasn't answering when I knocked. I guess he's not here. Do you know where he is?"

"Maybe with Daph?"

"Nope," Gus shakes his head adamantly. "She's with Molly, doing wedding stuff. Like hell would dad stick around for that. And he's not with Nanna, either. I already checked. I feel like-"

He stops, peers at Justin, then shrugs and says, "Never mind. I'll catch you later, okay?"

Before Justin can say anything, Gus scurries out of the suite. There's that nagging feeling again - something is definitely up. It's so fucking frustrating; he's torn between wanting to know and wanting everything to piss off and leave him the hell alone.

There's only one thing to do. Since Brian is missing and Daph is preoccupied, Justin retrieves his running gear from where Brian has stashed it and pulls it on. His body is yearning for this, so he doesn't delay. He takes the stairs, clearing them rapidly, and then heads outside to the track that borders the lake. It's almost abandoned, save for a few other guests strolling. Justin focuses all of his energy on lapping them; he passes by each of them once, twice, thrice, again and again and again until he loses count. Until his lungs are burning. Until his eyes are clouded and stinging with sweat. He thinks of Craig's bullshit father-and-son routine and pushes himself to run faster. He's reminded of being told not to 'make a scene' and sprints until his knees ache. He stops for breath and takes in the scenery: the luxurious resort, the lavish grounds - all Molly's, all for her wonderful wedding weekend, all financed by their bastard of a father. Justin catches his breath, swallows his mouthful of sweat and spit, and forces himself to run again, faster and faster, accelerating until everything is a meaningless blur.


	3. Evasion

Parting ways with Justin doesn't feel right - not one bit.

Brian is plagued with worry as he walks back to their suite alone. He feels like scum, sending Justin off on his own to deal with that piece of shit. But there's no alternative; it's not like he can accompany him. That would hardly be a good start to this never-ending nightmare of a weekend. Fuck, it's only Friday - they have three full days of this bullshit ahead of them. The less he sees of Craig Taylor in that time, the better.

But truth be told, Craig Taylor is the least of his concerns. Bizarrely, it's Gus that Brian is most worried about. And it's not in the same sense that he often worries about Gus. It's not worry sourced from all the love he feels for the kid; it's something else entirely. For the first time in his life, Brian wants to stay as far away from Gus as fucking possible.

His concern is that this is going to be impossible. Gus is nothing if not persistent. Once the kid has an idea in his head, it stays there. He's also incredibly difficult to outwit. This really isn't going to be easy.

But Brian does have a distinct advantage, and that is that he and Gus are cut from the same cloth. They've only grown more alike as the years have gone by; now that Gus is sixteen, they look more identical than ever. They act alike and think alike, too. Hopefully, Brian can use that and figure out how to stay one step ahead of the kid.

As he opens up the suitcases and starts unpacking, Brian considers what Gus' next move might be. He'll probably rush through telling Jen about his writing, make an excuse to leave, and then haul ass to find Brian.

Well, fuck that. It's time to make himself scarce. Brian rushes through unpacking and then absconds to Daphne's room. He knows that Gus will go looking for him there, but there are ways of dealing with that.

Brian doesn't tell Daphne that he's avoiding  _(hiding from,_ his subconscious supplies resentfully) Gus. Instead, they get to talking about Craig. Brian sprawls out on the couch and watches her pace back and forth. She's fuming like he's never seen her fume before. They rant and rave for a while, bitterly recalling all of the ways in which the bastard wronged Justin and Jennifer. Then, eventually, they proceed to making dire predictions about the weekend ahead. It probably doesn't bode well that Daphne, the eternal optimist, is suddenly as cynical as he is. Brian begins to resign himself to the weekend being a total disaster.

In the midst of all their bitching, he almost forgets about Gus. Then there's a knock on the door. Before Daphne can go to answer it, he grabs her arm and hisses, "Wedding stuff."

"Huh?"

"That's Gus, I'm not here, and you're busy doing wedding stuff with Molly."

Though Daphne frowns, she doesn't challenge him. She goes to answer the door, opening it only a crack so that Gus can't see in. When Gus asks after him, Brian doesn't miss the trace of desperation in the kid's voice. It squirms under his skin and starts eating away at him. He's all too aware that he's undoing years of good work and that Gus might never forgive him for this behaviour. Still, he's relieved when Daphne manages to get rid of him. 

Of course, this now means he has to deal with Daphne. After she's closed and locked the door, she marches over and eyeballs him with her hands on her hips. "Why did I just lie to your son for you?"

Brian really doesn't want to talk to her about it. He doesn't want to talk to  _anyone_ about it. Even Justin isn't clued in to what's going on. It's simply something that he wants left alone. Better yet, he wants it to vanish entirely without a trace. But right now the issue is looming between him and Daphne. He knows full well that she isn't going to just let it go without some sort of an explanation. Brian gives it his best shot: he meets her gaze and says quietly, "There are reasons, and I promise that they're good. But can you do me a favour? Can we leave it at that?"

She sits down on the arm of the couch and rests her hand on his shoulder. "Are you okay?"

Brian looks up at her silently. She seems to understand. She always understands. Daphne smiles at him kindly, pats his shoulder, then changes the subject. For that, he reaches up and places his hand over hers. She smiles a little more at this show of gratitude, then continues chattering about her job, stealing him away from thoughts of Gus and all the trouble brewing there.

*

Eventually, Daphne is called away to  _actually_ help with 'wedding stuff'. Knowing that Gus is probably still on the prowl, Brian takes the service stairwell back to the fourth floor to seek out Justin.

As soon as he's slipped into their suite, he attaches the Do Not Disturb sign to the doorknob. Then he closes the door and turns all three of the locks, just to be safe. It's fucking ridiculous - he feels like a fugitive. Still, better that than the intrusive conversation that Gus is angling for.

He can hear Justin in the bathroom; his ragged breathing sounds impossibly harsh compared to the running faucet. Brian finds him hunched over the sink, splashing his reddened face. His knees and shoulders are trembling a little, as though they're strained and struggling to cope. Justin has kicked off his socks, shoes, and t-shirt, leaving only the tight running shorts that Brian can't get enough of. They're plastered to his sweat-slicked skin; Brian can't wait to peel them off. He can see tension riddled through Justin's body, like he's forcibly holding himself together - something with which Brian is intimately and painfully familiar. As he approaches, Justin looks up and meets his gaze in the mirror. There's a vivid splash of desperation there; as soon as Brian sees it, he knows exactly what to do.

He approaches Justin slowly, carefully watching for that spark of excitement that he knows so well. As soon as he glimpses it, Brian strokes his hand down Justin's back, then drops down to kiss the nape of his neck. He pauses for a moment, tasting the soft, salty skin, and listening intently to Justin's shuddering sigh. It fuels him. Kneeling down, he begins to peel Justin's shorts off. He does so slowly, enjoying every inch of skin that's revealed to him. As he pulls the shorts down to pool around Justin's ankles, Brian leans in and tongues the back of his left knee. He laughs, amused by Justin's soft yelp of surprise. He licks it again and Justin's leg quivers. It continues to tremble as Brian trails his tongue up his thigh. He slips his hand in between Justin's legs and pushes them apart, loving how his hands glide over the sweaty skin. He can't get enough of Justin when he's like this: all sweaty, so deliciously filthy. Brian shoves him up against the counter so hard that the strike of Justin's knees against it echo a little. Justin grunts at the impact; it's a raw, ravenous sound that Brian would like to hear again. He smacks Justin's ass, watching as a bloom of red appears, then spreads him and starts to work him open with his tongue. Justin lets out a rough gasp and grabs at the counter, his knuckles whitening as he grips it. Brian gropes him roughly with both hands. He has no intention of messing around and wasting time - he knows what Justin's needs are, he realises the immediacy of them. So he doesn't delay. He doesn't tease. He tongue-fucks Justin until he's open, slick, and begging for more.

And then Brian gives it to him. He pulls himself up and unzips his jeans, grabs the lube (he stashed a tube in the bathroom, hoping it would come in handy - thank fuck it has), and coats his cock with it. Justin is still hunched over the counter, his breathing accelerated, shaking ever so slightly. There's still a touch of desperation in his gaze, but it's mostly drowned out by desire. Wild, uninhibited, filthy desire. As he watches Brian in the mirror, he licks his lips. It's a slow, gentle swipe of his tongue; Brian watches it drag over his bottom lip. The sight of it thrills him. He holds Justin's gaze, grabs his hips in a bruising grip, and splits him open.

Justin cries out. It's so jagged that it takes Brian a moment to realise that Justin has uttered his name. He lets go of one of Justin's hips and grabs a handful of his hair, tugging at it until Justin's back is arched. Then he fucks him brutally hard, exactly the way Justin is craving to be fucked. There's no talking, no hesitation, no letting up. It's fast, intense, and unforgiving. There's no space for thought, no need for it, nor anything else. There's just the two of them and this: this dirty, demanding fucking. The room fills with the sounds of their bodies colliding with each other and the counter, and their raw grunts and rapturous groans.

It doesn't take long to bring Justin off. He lets out a sharp shout and thrusts back against Brian desperately, his ass like a vice around Brian's cock. It's impossible for Brian to contain himself; he thrusts forward, filling Justin deeply, and comes inside him. Justin moans softly, collapsing downwards as Brian lets go of his hair.

As he waits to catch his breath, Brian grinds his still half-hard cock into Justin's ass. It pleases him to hear Justin whimper - even more so, to feel Justin push back against him greedily. Before he pulls out, he drapes himself over Justin's back and whispers in his ear, "Get your ass in the shower."

Justin's eyes light up. Brian grins at him and gropes him once more for good measure, then pulls out and goes to turn on the shower. Justin begins to peel himself off the countertop, looking considerably less wretched. Relieved, Brian reaches his hand out to him. As Justin grasps it, Brian pulls him in close and murmurs in his ear, "Gonna clean you up and then-"

"You're gonna dirty me up all over again?" Justin's guess is laced with laughter.

Brian grins at him and nods eagerly. "What else?"


	4. Puppeteering

Trouble is a-brewing. Daphne can feel it in her bones. Yesterday, when this whole wedding weekend fiasco officially kicked off, it was lingering on the horizon - like gathering clouds signalling an oncoming storm. Today, it's  _everywhere._ And it's fucking terrifying.

She stares down at her uneaten breakfast and pokes at it idly. It's impossible to rouse her appetite with all of these ridiculous issues crowding her mind. There's simply too much to deal with. That's what terrifies Daphne the most: she's responsible for managing this chaotic shitstorm! That's what she's been tasked with as Molly's maid of honour: ensuring that this weekend runs smoothly and peacefully.

And what a task it is - she's almost lost count of all the issues she has to manage. The big two are obvious - there's Justin and Craig (she needs to make sure they don't rip each other's throats out) and Brian and Gus (who are in the midst of some mysterious crisis). Then there's - well - everything else. She needs to ensure that Jen and Craig stay as far away from each other as possible, and that Gus keeps his attitude in check, and that Brian does too, and... yikes, there's a lot to contend with. She has a list of all these crazy responsibilities, which look even crazier written down. There's an entire page dedicated to managing Jen and Craig (they shouldn't spend too much time together, but they shouldn't be aware that they're being kept apart, and they need to be together with smiles on their faces when it comes time for photos). Daphne doesn't want to think about the pages she's written on Justin and Craig. Managing the two of them has required extra-strength intensive planning. Despite all the effort she's put into it, Daphne isn't looking forward to seeing it eventuate.

Speaking of which, there's Justin. When Daphne first catches sight of him striding into the restaurant her heart leaps into her throat. Will he be pissed? Morose? Is he storming over right now to announce his imminent departure? 

He surprises her by bounding over with a big smile on his face. As he sits down next to her, he sing-songs, "Good morning."

"You're looking very sunshiney today," she laughs, nudging his leg under the table. "What's the story behind that smile?"

Justin flushes pink as he boasts, "Brian made me come five times last night."

Before he can divulge all the dirty details, a horrified squawk interrupts them: _"Justin!"_

They both whip around and are instantly faced with a mortified Gus. His jaw is on the floor and his eyes are bulging out of their sockets. Sounding utterly harrowed, he exclaims, "Do you mind keeping stuff like that to yourself?!"

"I was keeping it between me and Daph," Justin points out, frowning at Gus. "You were sneaking up on us and eavesdropping. What have I told you about that?"

Gus scoffs and throws his arms out wide, gesturing to their very public surroundings. "This is a restaurant! In the resort that we're all staying at! I was supposed to be meeting you here! I was  _not_ 'sneaking up' or 'eavesdropping', I just so happened to be in the vicinity when you started running your big pervy mouth about stuff that ought to remain private! God, you are so _gross!"_

He marches over to the other side of the table and slumps down into his seat. Daphne is about to console him when he sinks his head into his hands and mutters, "Nobody talk to me. I'm busy repressing."

"Fine," Justin sighs. He beckons to Daphne and she leans in so that he can whisper in her ear. She almost tells him to stop for Gus' sake, but Gus is preoccupied with repressing, and Justin _is_ managing to share the dirty details very covertly. She figures it's pretty harmless.

But since this weekend is conspiring to kick her ass, it's not harmless. Once Justin has summed up his scintillating recount, they look up and realise that Jen has joined them. Gus is apparently done with repressing and has moved on to tattling to her. It's a solid routine, complete with direct quotes, doe eyes, and a wobbling lower lip. Jen looks completely horrified as Gus complains mournfully, "I don't want to hear about my dads' sex life, Nanna. It's not any kind of way to start the day."

Jen hugs Gus and strokes his hair comfortingly, as though he's six instead of sixteen. To be fair, he is doing an awfully good job of acting like a six-year-old to inspire sympathy. Daphne arches an eyebrow at him to make it clear that she sees right through his little scheme, but Gus simply whimpers and curls into Jen's protective embrace.

"Justin," Jen admonishes, "What is the matter with you? You shouldn't be talking about...  _that..._ in front of your son!"

"It was traumatising," Gus announces dramatically.

Daphne is stunned by this turn of events. How is it possible that two new crises are cropping up right before her very eyes? She can't handle managing conflicts between Justin and Gus, and Justin and Jennifer too - not on top of everything else. Time to smooth things over. 

"We're sorry. It won't happen again, Gus," she promises, smiling at him and Jen reassuringly. "We're too used to gabbing about this stuff. We'll be more discreet from here on out."

"Yeah," Justin agrees, although there's an underscoring of resistance to it. "Sorry, Gussy. I didn't mean to 'traumatise' you."

Gus bristles at Justin's dubious tone. "You  _did_ traumatise me."

"I believe you, honey." Jen ruffles his hair. She then casts a stern look at Justin and mutters, "You wouldn't believe some of the things I've heard come out of his mouth."

Of course, Brian would have to choose that exact moment to swan in. He snorts and asks, "Are you telling the therapist story again? Please tell me you're telling the therapist story again."

"What's the therapist story?" Gus glances around at all of them, looking cautiously curious. 

Daphne assesses the situation, lightning-fast: Justin and Jen aren't going to give it up, they're both averting their gaze and blushing. Brian is the real risk here - he loves that goddamned story. Honestly, so does Daphne... but Gus probably won't feel the same way. He already flipped at hearing the most minimal of details, he'll probably implode if he hears about Justin's self-professed love of dick. So before it can come to that, Daphne kicks Brian under the table, warning him to keep his big mouth shut. Then she swiftly changes the subject: "So who wants to meet for drinks before the rehearsal dinner?"

*

Her idea of having everyone meet for drinks before dinner works well. As Daphne had predicted, as they all get nice and liquored up, they relax. She keeps a close eye on them as she rushes around making last minute preparations; they make a lovely little clan, all talking and laughing happily. When everything is sorted, Daphne scans the surroundings one last time to ensure it's all perfect. The room is gleaming under candlelight and the scent of roses is lingering in the air. It still makes her stomach turn a little; no matter how much time passes, she still associates roses with her mother's funeral. But they're Molly and Noah's favourite flower, so they're set atop every table in picture-perfect arrangements. 

When Molly and Noah arrive, they blend seamlessly into the group. Daphne joins them as well and tries to enjoy the scarce few peaceful moments before the other guests arrive. She suspects that a moment like this is somewhat of a rarity, so she loops her arm through Justin's and leans into him. He turns and kisses her cheek, and Daphne savours it: how lovely this all is, and how happy Justin seems. She tries not to wonder how long it will last.

Once the guests arrive, Daphne leaves Justin with Gus. She notices that Brian slips away from the two of them, but there's no time to interrogate his avoidant behaviour. She has a harmonious evening to orchestrate.

All of this orchestration makes her feel like a puppeteer and, honestly, she kind of likes it. This maid of honour gig isn't so bad after all. Yes, the circumstances are stressful, but navigating them is quite thrilling. Daphne loves solving problems and there are problems aplenty to solve here.

For the first three-quarters of the night, everything runs to plan. She manages to limit Craig and Jen to five minutes of pleasant small-talk before steering Jen towards Molly's colleagues and Craig towards Noah's aunts and uncles. As soon as she realises that Justin and Gus are making snide remarks about Craig, Daphne finds Molly and makes sure she's kept well out of earshot. She even decides to aid and abet Brian's bizarre evasiveness by enlisting him to keep Jen busy once she's done talking to Molly's colleagues. That way, there's no chance of Jen crossing paths with Craig, which may lead to them running out of polite conversation, which might then lead to a clash. Nope - that needs to be avoided. Brian is a perfect fix. Plus, he seems relieved to be by Jen's side instead of with Gus. Though it piques her suspicion, Daphne decides not to query it. She gives Brian's arm a quick squeeze and then returns to puppeteering.

It's towards the end of the night that things veer off track. She has her people sitting at one table - Brian, Justin, Gus, and Jen - and they're joined by Noah and Molly. Daphne is having so much fun with them that she doesn't notice Craig approaching until it's too late. He smiles at the group and greets them cordially, then asks, "How is everyone enjoying the evening?"

"It's wonderful, daddy," Molly says, beaming up at him. 

Daphne bites back a shout as Justin kicks her under the table. She takes the kick to mean:  _Did she seriously just call him 'daddy'?!_ Daphne kicks back lightly as if to say:  _Yeah, what the fuck?_ Then she leans in towards Justin and whispers, "If you bruised my leg, I'm going to throttle you with my bare hands."

"That sounds hot," Brian remarks, smirking at her. Daphne grins back at him. Then she and Justin dissolve into laughter as Brian teases, "Who knew that our sweet little Daphne was into breathplay?"

Her laughter comes to an abrupt halt when she realises that Molly has disappeared, leaving Craig sitting in her seat. As she catches his eye, Craig smiles politely and asks, "How's medicine treating you, Daphne?"

"Well, thank you," she replies, reaching for her drink. Alcohol is her best bet right now. Hell, maybe she'll boot Justin from top spot and make alcohol her best friend. That might help get her through this wholly undesirable conversation.

"Being a doctor must be so cool," Gus says, wearing a grin that Daphne knows very well. It's his I'm-about-to-ask-you-a-million-gory-medical-questions-and-I-expect-really-gory-answers grin. 

"I've got a great story to tell you later," she promises him, which makes him grin even bigger. "Speaking of stories, how's your writing?"

Gus shrugs. "It's okay. I finished a short story the other day, but-"

"No buts," Brian interjects. He raises his eyebrows at Gus and insists, "Stand behind your work. You're talented, you're creative, and you work your ass off - give yourself the credit you deserve or nobody else will."

A small smile blossoms on Gus' face. "Thanks, dad."

Daphne notices that Craig is watching the exchange with intrigue. His gaze bounces back and forth between Gus and Brian a few times with some unfamiliar, unreadable expression. Then he looks at Justin and asks, "How's your career going, Justin?"

"Uh..." Justin pauses, his brow furrowing slightly. Daphne has to nudge his knee with hers to get him started again. "Um, it's going really well. I just had another show recently."

"It was brilliant," Noah supplies, smiling at Craig. "Molly and I visited three times. We couldn't get enough of it."

"Here," Gus offers, plucking his phone out of his pocket. He pulls up the gallery and leans across the table to show it to Craig. "These are some of the paintings. I like the portraits best."

"Your portraiture is stunning, honey," Jen enthuses. "I can't believe how they've evolved over the years. It's incredible."

Justin looks at Jen adoringly and they exchange a smile that makes Daphne's heart melt. "Thanks, mom." 

Gus finishes flicking through the photos. He zooms in on the last one and explains, "That one was on a cover of a magazine. They did a huge spread on him."

Craig nods. He studies the photo carefully, then glances at Justin and says, "They're excellent."

Daphne almost drops her glass of wine. She tries not to let her shock show, but it's the hardest task of the evening yet. Justin hides his surprise a little better. He nods at Craig and thanks him. Then the conversation continues pleasantly enough - it's somewhat stilted, but it's better than Daphne could have hoped for. As Jen starts bragging about Gus' grades, Daphne reaches for Justin's hand under the table. He grabs hers tightly and doesn't let go, not until long after Craig has politely excused himself.

*

Once the rehearsal dinner is over and everyone has dispersed (certain evasive people have dispersed with remarkable haste), Daphne stays behind to clean up. Molly wants to save as many mementos as possible, so she's given Daphne a list of requests. The roses need to be kept for pressing, the confetti should be collected up for scrapbooking, and the placecards have to be collected up and stored away safely. Fortunately, Gus has stayed behind to help. Unfortunately, it's because Brian has bolted off somewhere, abandoning the poor kid in the process. Daphne tries to cheer him up but it's no good - his glum mood is here to stay.

Once they've gathered everything and organised it, Daphne sits Gus down and offers to paint his nails. That seems to improve his mood somewhat. As she hunts through her purse for the nail polish, Gus sighs and says, "I don't get it. Craig seemed pretty nice."

He splays his left hand out on the table-top so that Daphne can get started. She's chosen a navy blue that will match the groomsmen's ties; it's a small gesture to ensure that Gus feels included tomorrow. It's also one of their little traditions that they've formed over the years. Daphne smiles to herself, remembering the first time she painted Gus' nails. He only wanted them done because J.R. was having hers done, but he ended up liking the end result. He spent the rest of the day wiggling his fingers under any available source of light and watching the emerald green polish shimmer.

"Was he like that before?" 

Daphne pauses and queries, "Before what?"

"Like, before Justin came out and started shouting from the rooftops about his love of dick."

Daphne groans. "Did Brian tell you the therapy story?!"

"Yes," Gus mutters, scowling. "But that's basically the only thing he said to me all night. But whatever - what was Craig like before he knew about Justin being queer?"

She hesitates before answering. It takes a while to conjure up any memories from before everything went to shit. It takes even longer to figure out how to formulate her response. She doesn't want to upset Gus anymore than he's already been upset. By the time she's landed on sometime to tell him, she's finished with his left hand and Gus is offering her his right.

"Craig was always kind of distant," Daphne explains, shrugging. "I probably wouldn't have thought much of it - I mean, my parents were the same - but we had Jen to compare him to. You know how she is, all warm and doting. He was never really like that. And he could be kind of... cold. I don't know if he meant to be or not, I think it had more to do with him not being able to relate to Justin all that much. You know, I think Craig wanted a boy's boy, whereas Justin wasn't really into all that stuff."

Gus nods a little. As she swipes the brush over his thumbnail, Daphne muses, "I didn't expect it to go down as brutally as it did. I mean, he was always kind of cold... but I didn't think he was the type to actually hurt people. It was scary, realising that he was capable of that."

"Like, you thought he was one person and then he turned out to be someone else entirely?"

"Pretty much, yeah." She looks up at Gus and sees all the hurt written across his face. "Is that how you feel right now?"

There are times when Gus seems like he's all grown up, and times when he seems like a lost little boy. Right now, it's the latter. He averts his gaze and murmurs sadly, "Dad won't talk to me. He promised he would, but he's been avoiding me for two whole days now. It's like he hates me."

"He doesn't hate you," Daphne insists, patting Gus' wrist. "Gussy, trust me. Your dad adores you."

"So why is he acting like this? He said he'd talk to me and now he's going back on that." Gus sighs heavily and looks at Daphne searchingly. "He talks to you, right?"

"Sometimes." She smiles at him and adds gently, "It's taken us a while to get to that point, though. It didn't happen instantly."

This doesn't seem to comfort Gus at all. Scowling, he rants, "I've been his kid for sixteen years. That's the same amount of time that you've known him. Why doesn't he trust me?"

It's perplexing to be engaged in a conversation where she doesn't have any context. Daphne can't pinpoint what on earth might be going on between the two of them, and she's tired of wondering. As she finishes up with Gus' nails and tucks the bottle of polish back into her purse, she asks gently, "What are you asking him to trust you with?"

Gus stares sullenly at his freshly painted nails and shakes his head. He sounds much younger and feebler than his sixteen years as he says, "Something impossible, apparently."


	5. Pursuit

Enough is enough.

Today is the day.

Gus is done waiting. He's done playing nice. He's done with putting up with being treated like shit. He was promised things and he's going to make sure his asshole of a father delivers on those promises. Pronto.

Since trailing after his dad like a lost little puppy hasn't accomplished shit, Gus adopts a new strategy. He wakes up early on Sunday and heads out to the lake. It's only a couple of minutes until Jus will be out for his morning run. As Gus waits, he sits on the grass and runs his fingers through the dewy blades. It's a peaceful beginning to a day that is probably going to end up being anything but.

When he spots Jus jogging down the path, he waves at him. Jus doesn't look like he's in any state to be out running; his face is worn and his eyes are so circled that they almost look bruised. Gus jumps up and greets him as brightly as he possibly can.

"Hey, Gussy," Jus says, clearly fighting a yawn. "What are you doing up so early?"

Gus shrugs. "Thought I'd come and see the scenery. It's nice here."

Jus glances around the grounds and nods - two quick, stiff jerks of his head. "Yeah. It's nice."

He sounds so vacant. Gus can feel his skin crawling with worry... but what can he do? Jus isn't out here for a heart-to-heart. Neither is Gus. They both have other things that they need to be doing.

So all he says is, "Want a hug?"

Jus smiles weakly. "Yeah, I'd love one."

Gus opens his arms and lets Justin sag into them for a moment. He hugs Jus extra tight and mumbles, "Love you."

"Love you, too," Jus says. He sighs into Gus' shoulder, squeezes even tighter, then steps back. "I'll see you this afternoon, 'kay?"

"Okay," Gus agrees. He watches as Jus runs down the path, building from a jog to a sprint in a worryingly short amount of time.

As soon as he's out of sight, Gus marches back towards the resort. He feels a little bad for having swiped Jus' key-card. But whatever. Desperate times, desperate measures, and so on.

Now armed with the key-card, Gus feels a renewed sense of confidence. En route to their suite, he maps it all out: He'll let himself in, wake up his errant father (who will hopefully be somewhere in the general vicinity of 'decent'), and demand that they sit down immediately and-

"Gus?"

Gus freezes halfway through the door. He hadn't banked on this. Dad never rises this early on weekends. But nonetheless, here he is - wide awake and staring at Gus with immense suspicion. "Where did you get that key-card?"

He shakes off his surprise and works as quickly as possible to regain his footing. The lie comes out fluidly enough: "Jus lent me his. I told him that I wanted to see you. I figured we could have breakfast together."

"Breakfast," his dad echoes, frowning a little. "Yeah, okay. Let's go find Daphne, she'll-"

"Not Daphne." Gus sits down in the armchair across from him and insists, "Just us."

Before he can further insist that it's well and truly time to talk, he's once again sidelined and stonewalled. Without a single word of warning, his father has abruptly picked up the phone to order room service. As he mutters terse requests down the phone, Gus tries to figure out what to do next. All he knows right now is that this conversation isn't going to be easy and that the breakfast that's now on its way is going to go uneaten. He was hungry a few minutes ago but now his stomach is twisting into painfully tight knots. Food is the last thing he wants.

Then again, the only thing he really wants is answers. It feels like he's been waiting and wondering and wanting for all of his life. Gus knows about his maternal lineage and half of his paternal lineage (if you can call it that, which Gus is convinced he can). He knows nothing of the Kinney side of his family. Does he have grandparents? Aunts? Uncles? Cousins? Nieces and nephews? Weird third-cousins, twice-removed... potentially of the toothless variety?

He has no goddamned idea. It used to be a curious little mystery that intrigued him. Gus used to try and imagine what the other Kinneys in the world were like; he's written a huge bundle of short stories about these hypothetical relatives. None of the stories ring true, though. He knows he hasn't hit the nail on the head yet. He doesn't want to try anymore. What's the point in hammering away at imagining relatives, when his dad has all the answers?

And Gus has so many questions. Who's still alive? Who's worth knowing? Why hasn't he heard about them? Why does nobody ever talk about it?

He vaguely remembers Deb saying something once, long ago, when he was still pretty small. It was so long ago that he can't even remember what it was that she said; Gus only remembers her mouth twisting up, all bitter-like, and her eyes darkening angrily. Then Melanie warned her to "leave it be, the kids might be listening" and that was that.

Then he found out the truth about his mom's parents and Craig as well. Gus was sickened. He was struck with anger so intense that it took days for it to recede. He remembers thinking: _Were dad's parents like that, too?_ And then:  _No, fuck that, I don't want to know, this is already bad enough as it is._ So, for a while, he was content to leave it alone. 

Then, suddenly, out of goddamned  _nowhere,_ his dads disappeared. For three weeks. To the other side of the country. Without any warning whatsoever. Normally when they run off on one of their romantic ventures, they send him an itinerary and contact details. They make plans to Skype and send photos. Gus always has some idea of where they are and he always hears from them.

Not this time. They fucking vanished. For three long, excruciatingly mysterious weeks. All Gus knew was what he overheard from Cynthia. She hadn't put him on hold properly, so he got to listen in as she ranted about being abandoned without warning. The line was crackly and her voice was muffled, but Gus is sure that he heard her say:  _Okay, so your mother is a monstrous cunt from hell. Mine is too. I don't run away for three fucking weeks to avoid her, do I?_

He'd wondered a lot about his grandmother - whether she was still alive, whether she knew about him, whether she was anything like Deb or Jen. He had kind of pictured her as elegant and beautiful. He had hoped that she would share his dad's smile.

He hadn't expected to first hear her described as a  _monstrous cunt from hell._ Even for Cynthia, that kind of talk is pretty fucking extreme. It takes a lot to shock Gus, but that sure did the trick. Okay, so maybe he'd been a little too optimistic - it ought to have been obvious that his grandmother wouldn't be lovely, or that she was nothing like Deb or Jen. He should have know that much. But Gus didn't expect it to be this bad. He was stunned by Cynthia's poisonous tone and staggered by the vitriolic description. The knowledge that the monstrous cunt from hell had sent his father fleeing was something else. Gus used to look at his father and see someone infallibly brave and strong. Now it's different; that tough exterior is still firmly in place, but what lies beneath?

Eventually, his curiosity grew too intense to be ignored, so Gus called his dad for one of their chats and 'fessed up. He admitted to waiting and wondering and wanting for far too long. He asked to be told the truth. He reminded his dad how important this was. 

After running through this impassioned speech, Gus was met with silence. He waited patiently, listening to the soft crackle and the faint sound of his dad breathing. Eventually, there came a quiet response: "Can we talk about this when I see you next?"

"At Molly's wedding?"

"At Molly's wedding."

And that was that.

Now here they are, on Molly's wedding day, and Gus needs answers. When his dad puts the phone down, he doesn't delay. It's not all that easy - he's so nervous that the ground has begun to feel unsound beneath his feet. But he's been waiting for this for months (well, much longer, really) and the idea of waiting so much as a second longer is utterly intolerable.

"Can we talk now? About our family?"

His dad flinches.  _Flinches._ Gus has seen his father flinch maybe twice in his entire life. It's even rarer to see him angry, but that's what's happening right now. With fury daggered into each and every word, his dad says, "They're not your family."

It takes Gus a moment to realise that the anger isn't directed at him. Once he's rid himself of that concern and the uncomfortable sense of vulnerability that went with it, he counters, "They're where I came from."

With his anger flaring even brighter, his dad retorts roughly, "You didn't come from them."

 _What the hell does that mean?_ As the question blares in his head, Gus wants to hurl it at his father. But the terrain of this conversation is already too rocky and uncertain. He doesn't want to incite a fight between the two of them. So, as calmly as he can manage, he says, "I still want to know about them."

"Gus..." his dad sighs, long and slow. "Not today."

 _Not fucking good enough!_ Gus bites his tongue and tries counting to ten. Fuck, his father can be infuriating. He manages to get to six before blurting out, "I'm going home tomorrow. It has to be today."

"It's Molly's wedding-"

Gus snorts. This time, he doesn't stop himself. He comes right out and demands, "Since when do weddings mean shit to you? You, who used to rant and rave about mandated monogamy? You, who secretly eloped out of fucking nowhere? Don't fucking think that you can play the wedding card. You have no goddamned right."

"We'll talk about it another time."

That's all he says. That's  _all._ There's no explanation, no apology, no nothing. Just a forced end to a conversation which Gus was  _promised._ Like hell is he letting his father get away with this. "That's not fair! You said that we'd talk this weekend."

Apparently this means nothing. It's a mere technicality that his father is all too willing to dismiss. With a careless shrug, he resolves, "There's nothing to talk about. Those people are not your family. They have nothing to do with you. That's what they are - nothing."

What bullshit. It's so infuriating that Gus' blood begins to boil. Speaking of which: "They're not nothing. They're my blood!"

With a dismissive scoff, his dad snaps back, "Since when does biology mean shit to you?!"

Gus thinks of Jus and Melanie first and cringes. He feels even worse as he considers everyone else: Ruby, Jen, Deb, Molly, Daphne, Michael, Ben... and everyone else, all of his loved ones who he considers family regardless of blood ties. It takes him a while to swallow the guilt and muddle through his thoughts to find a response. At last, he says, "Fine, fuck biology. They raised you. They meant something to you. I want to know what."

This time, his dad remains silent. He stares at Gus blankly; so much so that he's almost unrecognisable. Hurt drop-kicks Gus in the stomach. He almost feels like he could keel over, it's so painful. His father's tough exterior doesn't seem so tough anymore... it just seems cold. What lies beneath that, Gus has absolutely no idea. Does he even want to know? Whatever it is that's lurking there... is it even worth pursuing?

"Fine," he says quietly. He pulls himself up out of the seat and tries to stand tall despite the pain radiating through him. "Thanks for going back on your word."

"I'm not saying never. I'm saying not now."

"That's not good enough," Gus snaps. "Don't fucking promise me shit if you're not going to deliver. Oh, and fuck you for being such a coward. You could have told me this on Friday, or yesterday, but no - you've spent all weekend slinking around and hiding. Goddamnit, do you not see how messed up that is? What the fuck is your problem?!"

When his bitter tirade is only met with another blank stare, Gus gives up. He throws the pick-pocketed key-card on the floor and storms out of the room. As he's in the process of slamming the door as hard as he can, he thinks he hears his name called. It's cut off by the door crashing shut.

Gus steps back and leans against the opposite wall. There's a clock at the end of the hall ticking away. He listens to the soft tick, tick, tick, and ends up counting a full minute before he realises that his dad isn't coming after him. Burdened by that knowledge, he drags himself down the hall towards his room. Every step of the way, he hopes that his dad will come chasing after him.

By the time he reaches his room, the sense of defeat is crushing. He locks himself in and heads straight for bed. After sinking into it like a stone, Gus curls up amongst the blankets and decides to follow his cowardly father's lead and hide away from everything. 


	6. Togetherness

The morning of the wedding, Daphne wakes up bright and early. The first thing she notices is golden sunlight streaming in through the window, which instantly lifts her mood. The second is a much less cheerful sight: Molly is sitting bolt upright in the next bed over, wide-eyed and pallid.

"Moll?" Daphne wipes the bleariness from her eyes and pulls herself up to lean against the headboard. "You okay?"

"I'm getting married today," Molly says blankly. "I'm going to be someone's wife in less than twelve hours."

Daphne glances at the clock. It's just gone seven, so it's actually much less than twelve - in fact, it's only eight until the ceremony commences. If everything runs to schedule (which Daphne is determined it will), Molly will be wed in precisely eight hours and forty-two minutes.

And, like, thirty-three seconds. Give or take a few.

Suddenly, Daphne's phone starts vibrating on the nightstand set between their beds. This seems to break Molly out of her spell - she shrieks, jumps up, and starts dancing around the room. "I'm getting fucking married today!  _Yes!"_

She leaps into Daphne's arms and hugs her with a scarily strong grip. "I love you so much. Today's going to be awesome! I'm gonna go have a shower and then we can start getting ready. Love you!!!"

As she disappears like a flash into the bathroom, Daphne breathes a long sigh of relief. So all is well on the Molly front. That's as good a way as any to start the day.

However, as she picks up her phone, her hopes for the day instantly plummet. There are a string of texts from Gus, each of which carve a sizable chunk out of Daphne's good mood:

_I'm NOT sitting next to that asshole today. No way. You need to move me or I'm bailing._

_Oh and let me be clear - by 'that asshole' I mean dad. I would literally rather sit next to Craig. I am 300% serious about that._

_Don't try to sit me next to Jus either, even that will be way too close._

_If I find out that you're still sitting me next to either one of them, I'm not coming to the wedding._

Daphne very nearly hurls her phone across the room. Then another text comes through:  _Please, Daph, I can't stand being near him right now._

That one stops her in her tracks and prevents her temper from soaring higher. Daphne takes a deep breath and then carefully responds:  _Even though we've had the seating charts set for months, I'll do this for you. In return, you're going to show up today and at least be civil. There's no fighting on Molly and Noah's big day, okay?_

It takes a minute or so, but Gus responds:  _I'll be there and I'll be civil. If Jus can do it with his asshole dad, so can I._

That one stuns Daphne a little - she hadn't expected to see Brian compared to Craig. It sends up a flare of defensiveness in her, but there's no point in indulging it. Defending Brian right now will only make matters worse. So, instead, she replies:  _Okay. Love you lots - see you at 3 xoxo_

She waits to see if he'll text back, but he doesn't. 

*

"So, final planning session," Molly announces, grinning gleefully at Daphne over breakfast. "We'll do nails, then hair, then makeup, and then I'm going to rehearse my vows and my speech while you make sure everything is sorted downstairs."

"Will do," Daphne promises, whilst stacking her plate with food. All this puppeteering and peacekeeping has left her ravenously hungry.

"Also, I've been thinking about our first dance. Well - Noah and I have been thinking. We'd like to invite people to join us gradually on the dancefloor. First, people of significance. Then everyone else. After Noah and me, our parents will be invited out, then you and the best man. Now, each of those people has been asked to choose a partner as part of our celebration of togetherness. Who would you like to choose?" Molly rolls her eyes and adds quickly, "Mom already dibbsed Justin. You know, her favourite child."

Perplexed, Daphne frowns. "Justin's not her favourite child."

Molly sighs and laughs a little. "No, I know. It just seems that way sometimes."

In the almost three decades that they've known each other, Daphne has never heard Molly confess to feeling that way. It's bewildering. But before Daphne can push the issue, Molly swiftly changes the subject by prompting, "Who are you going to dance with? You know, Noah's friend Billy-"

"Brian," Daphne says quickly. She would have chosen him anyway, but she feels the need to swoop in and ensure that Molly doesn't stick her with that creep Billy. "I'll dance with Brian."

"Brian," Molly echoes slowly.

Daphne nods firmly. "There's not a problem with that, is there?"

Molly blushes a little and averts her gaze. Staring at her breakfast, she shrugs and says, "Nope. No, of course not."

Issues, issues, issues. Constant issues. First Justin and Craig, then Brian and Gus, and now Molly getting angsty over things that ought to be total non-issues. Seeking a speedy resolution, Daphne reaches across the table and grab's Molly's hand. "Hey, look at me. A few things: Jen loves you and Justin the same, you've always liked Brian-"

"Loved," Molly amends hastily. "I love Brian."

That's more like it. Daphne smiles at her and continues, "This is your wedding. This day is all about you and Noah and what you guys want. Nothing else matters - not even who's footing the bill. Okay?"

"Okay." Molly beams at her. "I'm so glad you're here with me for this."

Daphne pats her hand and reassures her, "Nowhere else I'd rather be."

*

After nails, then hair, then makeup, then finally getting dressed, Daphne journeys downstairs to make sure everything is going well. Fortunately, it is - the courtyard is ready for the ceremony, the ballroom looks picture-perfect for the reception, and the vendors are all busy setting up. All of that is going swimmingly.

It's just certain guests that need wrangling.

Daphne doesn't feel qualified to deal with the landmine that is Gus, so she skirts around that issue for the timebeing and goes to check on Brian. She has a sneaking suspicion that he may be in worse shape than Gus, so as she knocks on the door of Brian and Justin's suite, she prepares for the worst.

When Brian opens the door, Daphne is taken aback. First, by how stunning he looks in his suit. Then, by how totally bereft he seems. Preparing for the worst wasn't good enough - there was no way she could have prepared herself for this. She hasn't seen Brian look quite so anguished since those awful days spent in the hospital following prom. Misery is written all over his face, but it's his eyes that really catch Daphne's attention. They're like deep, dark hollows sunken into his face. She can see that he's trying to assume a more neutral expression, but it never quite eventuates. 

"Hey," she says, testing the waters. Brian grimaces. Okay, so the waters are kind of choppy.

"Come in," he says. It sounds as though he's had to drag the words out with all his might. Daphne slips into the room and watches him cautiously as he closes the door behind them and leans against it. He stares into nothingness and asks emptily, "What's up?"

"I have something for you," Daphne says.

She pauses, waiting for him to dish up some pervy response, but it never comes. He just blinks at her, looking like he's about ready to collapse in on himself at any given moment.

Daphne pulls her hand out from behind her back, revealing the red silk tie that matches her dress. Still nothing. Now she's really worried. 

"Come here," she urges. Brian steps closer, exhibiting the same fatigue that's carved into his features harshly. Daphne presses the red tie into his hand and starts undoing the one he's done an abysmal job of putting on. As she slips it off, she explains, "Earlier this week, I found an old entry in Molly's wedding planner. Originally, she wanted a maid of honour  _and_ a man of honour - Justin, of course. She was going to make it a big family affair. Jen and Craig would walk her down the aisle, Gus would walk with me, and you and Justin would have gone together. All of us would have worn red, like this."

Brian smiles a little. Daphne smiles back as she sets aside his plain black tie and loops the red one around his neck. Whilst knotting it carefully, she murmurs, "Molly deserves to have the wedding that she wanted, no matter who's financing it. And you deserve to be a part of this. Also... you look really hot in red."

That gets him. Brian laughs and grins; it seems to revive him instantly. Daphne grins back extra wide, then even wider still as he says silkily, "So do you."

"Thanks."

Brian peers at her dress and queries, "I thought bridesmaids dresses were supposed to be frilly, frumpy disasters?"

"Molly isn't that cruel." Daphne smiles down at her dress, which is likely the exact opposite of frilly and frumpy. She can't decide which part of it she likes best - the volumous, twirly, knee-length skirt; the slinky, strappy bodice; or the impossibly soft and silky crimson fabric. She runs her hands over the skirt and swishes it a little. "Wait 'til you see her dress - it's super glamorous. Anyway, I've got to check on a few more things... see you at three?"

"See you at three," Brian confirms, sounding slightly less wretched. Daphne gives him a quick hug (she tries not to fret when he caves into it, like he's desperate for comfort) and then leaves to continue with her endless list of tasks.

As she's making her way back towards the ballroom to find a new place for Gus to sit, she suddenly crosses paths with Craig. He greets her with a way-too-familiar smile and says with totally misplaced warmth, "How are you, Daphne?"

"Wonderful."

She sighs inwardly as he starts walking alongside her. Craig looks at the planner she's holding with interest and asks, "Is everything going well?"

"Perfectly." 

"Can I help you with anything?"

Well, shit. Now she feels a little guilty for her stilted one-word responses. Daphne breaks her rapid stride and pauses to flick through the planner. "Can you give this list to the photographer? Molly finally finished it last night."

Craig nods. "Sure, I can-"

He frowns down at the list. "I thought it was the wedding party who were being photographed."

Daphne glances at the page and points to the top. "You paid for the platinum package, which includes shots before and during the ceremony and reception, plus formal portraits of the bride and groom's choosing. Since the wedding party is small - it's just Molly, Noah, me, and Stewart, the best man - Molly elected to include family members. She's requesting that the photographer arrange to photograph everyone on these lists."

"Right." Craig pulls the page taut and studies it intently. He begins to read out Molly's carefully configured categories: "Whole group portraits, small group portraits, friendship portraits, couple portraits..."

Daphne follows his gaze to the list of couples being photographed: Molly and Noah, Noah's parents, Craig and his wife, Stewart and his girlfriend, and lastly, Brian and Justin. That seems to be where Craig's skeptical gaze is focused. 

Daphne stands up straight and demands, "Is there a problem?"

Craig glances at her. His irritation is evident for a scarce few seconds, then it vanishes and he says quietly, "None whatsoever."

"I would hope not," Daphne says sharply. She hesitates momentarily - she could leave it at that, but the way he's staring at that section of the page is riling her up. "You know, Brian and Justin have every right to be on that list. They've been together for sixteen years."

With a terse sigh, Craig folds the list up and slips it into his breast pocket. "Sixteen years... I thought Justin was with someone else for a while?"

Daphne's jaw nearly hits the floor. The fucking gall of him! She desperately wishes she could thump him. But that wouldn't do, so she holds her hands firmly at her sides. She does, however, drop the polite façade to glare at Craig. "Yes, he had one other boyfriend _once_ for a very brief and insignificant period. It was essentially a drop in the ocean."

Craig raises his hands in surrender. "I was merely curious. You can't really call it sixteen years if-"

"Yes we can," Daphne seethes. He bristles indignantly at her livid tone and looks about ready to fight back, which Daphne can't have. She swoops in and insists, "Look, I'm not going to argue with you. Not today. Today is about Molly and Noah, got it?" _  
_

"Got it," Craig snaps. "That's what I've been saying all along."

"Good. So get the fuck over your ridiculous hang-ups about Brian and Justin. Brian isn't some pervert corrupting your little boy - he never was. He's an important part of this family and you'll treat him as such." Daphne raises her hand to stop him from interjecting, then adds forcefully, "That's what Molly would want. Take it from me - she adores Brian. So at the very least, treat him the way she'd want him to be treated. Alright?"

He scoffs softly, but that's about it. Daphne is pleased to see the fight draining out of him. Craig pats his pocket to check for the list and says quietly, "Fine by me. I'll go and talk to the photographer. Let me know if there's anything else you need a hand with."

"Gladly," Daphne responds, as politely as she possibly can. They stare at each other coolly for a moment and then part ways with immense haste.

*

From that point on, the day proceeds smoothly. Craig continues to offer his help and Daphne forces herself to accept it. They work as silently and separately as possible to make sure everything is all set and ready to go. 

To Daphne's relief and great joy, the ceremony runs flawlessly to plan. Molly and Noah are all smiles and glowing by the end of it, which is exactly what Daphne had been hoping for. Everything else is background noise, and it's pretty much on mute. They end up getting through the photos in good spirits and then, thankfully, it's time for the reception where there will be copious amounts of alcohol. Everything starts to look pretty fucking great when it's all a big blur of drinks and dancing. 

Then it's time for the first speech of the night. Daphne tries not to groan when she remembers that it's Craig who's up first. She sits down in between Gus and Justin and grabs her empty wine glass, which Brian promptly fills to the brim. She smiles at him gratefully and he returns it. They both elect to ignore Gus' quiet snort of irritation; he's been civil for the most part, but every so often he does something to make his sour mood known, like rolling his eyes or snapping. Since it's well and truly beyond her reach, Daphne has decided to leave it be. It's up to Brian to fix when the time is right.

Right now, the only thing on Daphne's mind is Craig's impending speech. She downs about half her glass in preparation, then turns her attention towards him, standing in between Molly and Noah at the centre table.

"Thank you all for being here tonight to celebrate Molly and Noah," Craig begins. Daphne suppresses a laugh; it sounds so totally clichéd, and she's confident that it will only get more so as Craig continues. "I have felt blessed to watch them grow together as a couple over the last four years-"

_Cliché central._

"-and it has thrilled me to see my darling Molly so happy. I'm so proud to have seen them uniting as husband and wife today-"

_Clichés, clichés, clichés._

"-not only because they are such a strong couple, but because I have every confidence that they will only get stronger as the years go by-"

 _Cliché overdose._ Daphne feels about ready to flatline.

"-and I look forward to being there to see them grow together. Noah, welcome to my family - it's an honour to have you here."

 _Shit._ Daphne's heart begins to plummet. Across from her, Jen tenses. She's staring into her glass of wine, her expression carefully measured. Justin is staring at his hands with the same blank expression that Molly had earlier in the day. 

"And Molly, sweetheart, what can I say that I haven't said before? I'm sure you'll roll your eyes because you've heard this from me a thousand times, but to hell with it - that's what fathers are for." Craig raises his glass and says with sincere warmth, "I love you, honey. Congratulations, to you and your husband. I know that the two of you have a long and happy life ahead of you. To Noah and Molly, everyone."

On auto-pilot, Daphne raises her glass. Everyone else at the table does the same. As the room choruses  _to Noah and Molly_ cheerfully, Daphne meets Brian's eye. He gives her a look that clearly reads:  _Are you thinking what I'm thinking?_

She is. She's sure of it. As the rest of the guests continue toasting merrily, there is one thought spinning around and around in Daphne's mind (and, surely, Brian's too):

 _This is fucking **bullshit.**_  


	7. Alone

After running to his heart's content (and his body's severe discontent), Justin collapses on the grass and spreads out atop the soft, wet blades. He closes his eyes for a while and listens to his breathing, waiting patiently for it to slow down. When it finally does, he opens his eyes again and stares up at the cloudless sky.

It's a perfect day for a wedding. Too bad he feels like utter shit.

He doesn't want to go inside. The drama manifesting there is ridiculous and he has no desire to deal with any of it. Plus, he can't find his key-card any-fucking-where, which he chooses to interpret as a sign to stay well away. So outside he remains, where he can enjoy the simplicity of the cool, wet grass and clear, blue sky.

"Justin? Honey?"

He blinks as a shadow passes over him, then cranes his neck to see his mother standing over him. "Hey, mom."

"Are you alright?" She frowns at him worriedly. "You smell disgusting."

"Gee, thanks," he drawls, rolling his eyes. He can't quite be bothered thinking of anything else to say. Even though it's just barely Sunday morning, the weekend has taken it out of him. Justin would like nothing more than to return to New York and crawl into his own bed, where he'd be far, far away from this whole mess.

"Honey?" His mother nudges him with her foot. "Come on, get up. I have a surprise for you."

Justin considers this for a moment. "What kind of surprise?"

"Just get up," his mother prompts with a sigh. "We don't have long and you'll need to have a shower first."

He groans a little - mostly because his knees and shins are aching abominably - and drags himself up off the grass. Whilst eyeing his mother skeptically, he mutters, "This had better be good."

*

As it turns out, it's better than good. His mother treats him to a whole day at the spa for some much-needed indulgence and relaxation. At first, he's wary of her motivations; he doesn't want to spend the day talking in circles about Craig or Molly. But his mother stays well away from talking about them and focuses on other things: what he's working on for his next show, how Gus is going, how things are with Brian - lovely, easy topics that they can discuss happily. Even better, the hours spent at the spa drain the tension and strain from his body. Justin emerges relaxed, refreshed, and ready and raring to sing his mother's praises to anyone who will listen. He may have a complete and utter asshole for a father, but his mother more than makes up for that.

Plus, he has a Machiavellian mastermind for a best friend. When Justin arrives at the ceremony, he first notices that Gus' nails match the groomsmen's suits. He then spots Daph and Brian huddled up together in a corner of the courtyard, chatting happily, both of them wearing matching red. After gleefully joining his mother in embarrassing Gus half to death with an onslaught of compliments, Justin approaches his two other favourite people and greets them with a grin. As he straightens Brian's tie, he nods to Daph's dress, and remarks, "Whoever was behind this decision?"

They both grin, then Daph winks at him and confides, "I may have played a role, but don't go repeating that. Or do - whatever. I don't care what that asshole thinks of me."

Before Justin can give her the bear hug that she deserves, the music starts and everyone starts taking their seats. He sits down next to Brian and his mom. For some reason, Gus is seated on the other side of the courtyard. When Justin looks at him inquiringly, Gus shrugs sullenly and looks away. Justin is bewildered, but there's not even a spare second to try and figure out what that's all about. Daph is walking down the aisle with flower-girl, and Molly isn't too far behind.

Justin takes one look at Molly and tears up. She looks radiant. Their eyes meet for a moment and as she smiles at him, he realises that this is the happiest he's ever seen her. He instantly feels better than he has all weekend.

That perfect moment is then followed by a perfect ceremony. The reception is pretty great, too - Justin has to stomach referring to Craig as his father a few times, but he powers through those uncomfortable moments and then self-soothes with a drink (or three). When Molly and Noah make their entrance, the music starts and their first dance commences. Noah's father announces that the number - In the Mood - was the first song that Molly and Noah ever danced to. If it were anyone else's wedding, Justin might be tempted to mock the cheesiness of it. But it's Molly and he enjoys seeing how thrilled she looks as she and Noah dance. He enjoys it even more when everyone is invited to join them; he dances happily with his mother, occasionally glancing towards Brian and Daph and feeling a swell of affection as he watches them dancing and laughing together.

Unfortunately, his good mood was never destined to last. His father's speech completely obliterates it. Justin pushes all of his energy into remaining cool, calm, and collected, but beneath that, he's livid. As Craig showers Molly with adoring praise and warmly welcomes Noah into the family, Justin wishes he could scream. He seizes that burgeoning urge and balls it up until it's a tiny, tangled knot of frustration that he can swallow. It then sits in the pit of his stomach, stabbing at him relentlessly. 

As soon as the speech is over, Justin heads straight for the bar and asks the bartender for the strongest drink available. As the bartender quickly complies, Justin leans against the bar and tries to collect his thoughts. He's swarming with fury and hurt, which is beyond exhausting, but he can't have anyone else knowing that. 

There are some people he can't hide from, though. Then again, he wouldn't want to. As Brian's arms wind around his middle nice and tight, Justin can't help but smile. He leans into Brian's embrace and enjoys the soft touch of lips pressed against his neck. Is this 'making a scene'? Probably. Hell, _hopefully._

As Brian nuzzles his neck, he murmurs, "Have I told you yet how fucking gorgeous you look tonight?"

"Several times," Justin laughs. "But you can keep going. It's really no trouble."

Brian chuckles and gives him an affectionate squeeze. "Well, if it's no trouble, then I might as well. You look stunning tonight, Sunshine."

Justin turns around and slips his arms around Brian. Grinning, he teases, "You're not going to start belting out that cheesy old love song, are you?"

"I'm not nearly drunk enough." Then, with a sly smirk, Brian adds, "But I could be."

"That reminds me..." Justin reaches for the cocktail that the bartender has served up and drains it in one go. It burns all the way down and, yet, it's still not strong enough to see him through the current circumstances. He pushes the glass back and signals to the bartender for another.

"Right," Brian says, frowning. "That's my cue to ask if you're okay."

"You know I'm not," Justin snaps back, without even meaning to. He instantly feels like a total asshole. "Shit, I'm sorry."

Brian's hands glide up his back to cradle his neck tenderly. "What's up?"

Justin glances around the crowded ballroom. The sight of all the lively guests is overwhelming. He eases in towards Brian as close as he can, then asks softly, "Have you ever felt completely alone even though you're surrounded by other people?"

He watches Brian carefully. A strange sort of smile crosses his face; it's torn between sad, amused, and fond. He kisses Justin's forehead, then says, "For the first twenty-nine years of my life, it happened a hell of a lot. Since then, though... well, let's just say it's much less frequent."

Justin melts. He feels a grin spread right across his face; it's a startlingly unfamiliar sensation after the past three days of almost non-stop stress. He presses himself flush to Brian and kisses him. In between kisses, Brian asks curiously, "Do you feel completely alone now?"

"Fuck no." Justin kisses him deeply, almost obscenely so. This definitely counts as 'making a scene', but he couldn't care less. The ballroom might as well be deserted - nobody else matters right now.

And then the night goes from better to excellent, as Brian breaks away from the kiss and asks, "Dance with me?"

Justin beams at him. "Gladly."

*

As they dance tirelessly, Justin loses himself in it. He forgets about his father's blatant favouritism and his bullshit speech, and focuses entirely on Brian and moving in perfect harmony with him. There are few things that make him as happy as this. By the time the music stops to make way for more speeches, Justin is giddy and unable to wipe the smile off his face. 

When they return to their table, his mother is scanning the room worriedly. "Where's Gus?" 

"He said he wasn't feeling well," Daph says, pursing her lips. "He apologised to Molly and Noah and then went back to his room."

Once again, Justin is struck with a strange feeling. There's something afoot - something between Brian and Gus, but he has no idea what. Before he can corral Brian and demand to know the truth (and Brian definitely does know the truth - he looks guilty as shit right now), Molly stands up at her table and calls for everyone's attention.

As the room falls silent, Molly smiles and explains, "I know it's not traditional for the bride to give a speech. But Noah and I aren't very big fans of tradition, so we decided to do away with it on this front. I'd like to begin by thanking all of you for coming this weekend. We're so pleased that we could share this occasion with all of our family and friends."

Whilst Molly continues on with her thanks, Justin finds his gaze gravitating towards Craig. He's watching Molly with an expression of pure adoration. It hits Justin square in the chest. He leans into Brian for comfort and tries to focus back on Molly. She's all that matters. He tells himself that over and over again until his focus is entirely on her.

"Of course, I have to thank my father for his generosity. He has been so supportive of Noah and myself, especially as we've worked towards this day. Thank you, dad, for everything. It means a lot."

Ouch. So focusing on Molly isn't going to help. Justin grabs Daph's glass of whiskey and steals a gulp. Instead of swatting him or scolding him like she normally might, she simply rests her hand on his knee and squeezes lightly. Justin grabs her hand and holds it gingerly in his.

Molly goes on to thank Noah's parents, then Jennifer, then Daph and Stewart. Through all of it, Justin continues to drink. The sting of the alcohol does lessen the sting left behind by Molly's devotion to Craig a little - but not nearly enough. 

"But there are two people who deserve my thanks more than most," Molly says, "Because they've earned it over the course of many, many years."

Her tone has suddenly shifted to something firmer and more solemn. It grabs Justin's attention; he looks up at her and finds her staring right back at him. Her gaze is sharp and bright; Justin can sense her determination. It's threaded through her every word as she says, "I'm talking - of course - about my darling brother and my amazing brother-in-law. Justin, Brian - thank you. The two of you have shown me how powerful and meaningful and  _wonderful_ love can be. You have proven to me time and time again that love is real, and lasting, and something worth fighting for. Not only that, you have given me a vision for what my married life might be like. Over the last six years that you've spent together as husbands… well, it’s been nothing short of inspirational. You two have given me so much over the years, but most of all... _best_ of all, you've given me hope. Thank you."

Justin is stunned. He glances quickly at Brian and Daph, who are both smirking incessantly, then at his mother, who looks close to tears, then lastly at Craig, who looks shocked (and rapidly verging towards appalled). As Brian leans in and kisses his cheek, Justin feels a smile resurfacing on his face. There's one on Molly's to match. She beams at him, blinks back tears, and raises her glass. As everyone else follows suit, she says shiningly, “I’d like us all to toast to love. There's a lot of it in this room tonight and I'm so very grateful for that. To love in all of its beautiful incarnations."

As everyone toasts, Justin stares at his little sister in utter awe. She grins at him and mouths:  _I've got your back._ Justin grins back at her and mouths:  _Love you._

In the moments that follow, a whole flood of things happen: his mother bursts into a bout of happy tears and Daph rushes to hug her, Molly invites everyone back to the dancefloor for the final portion of the evening, and Brian checks his phone, glares at it, curses under his breath, then stands up and says abruptly, "I'll be back in a bit, okay?"

"Where are you going?" Justin asks, reaching for his hand. Brian only lets him grasp it briefly before pulling away and tugging on his suit jacket. "Are you okay?"

"I'm going to go check on Gus," Brian says in a measured tone, but Justin can sense the tension simmering under the surface. "I won't be long."

"Bri-?" 

It's too late - Brian is already marching out of the ballroom. Justin almost goes to follow him, but then Molly shows up and pulls him, their mother, and Daph into a big group hug. By the time they've separated, Brian is long gone. 

*

The rest of the reception is a non-stop, brilliant blur of dancing and drinks and cake. Brian and Gus fail to make a reappearance, but every time Justin tries to separate from the crowd to go and find them, he's dragged back in by either his mom, Molly, or Daph. He soon figures out that Daph knows something (of fucking course she does, why didn't he think of that sooner?!) and pulls her aside to interrogate her, but she doesn't have the answers he's looking for. She only assures him that it's Brian's responsibility and that he'll undoubtedly have it handled. Before they can say anything more, Molly comes and pleads with him for another dance - a request which Justin wouldn't dare refuse. He opts to follow Daph's lead and trust Brian with resolving whatever the fuck is going on with him and Gus, and continues celebrating with his incredible little sister.

By the evening's end (which arrives much sooner than expected), the crowd has thinned out and the ballroom is almost abandoned. While Daph attempts to peel the drunker guests out of their seats, Molly asks Justin to walk her and Noah to the lobby to say goodbye. He goes along happily, even though they've also invited Craig. Justin shrugs that off - he's feeling spectacularly victorious ever since Molly's knockout speech, and really, what's five more minutes with the bastard? 

"I wish we could stay longer," Noah says apologetically, "But our flight leaves in six hours. We ought to get some rest in."

"Of course," Craig resolves, smiling kindly at Noah. Then he looks at Molly and asks keenly, "You'll let me know when you get there, won't you, princess?"

Justin tries not to gag. He distracts himself from the overwhelming sense of nausea by asking, "Where are you guys going? You never mentioned."

"Didn't we?" Noah laughs. "Sorry, Jus, it's all been so crazy. We're going to Europe!"

"For three months," Molly says, giggling and spinning Noah around. "Three whole months! We've so needed a break from work - I can't wait. We're going to hit France and Italy first, then... well, so many places that I've actually lost count. Besides, Noah's in charge of the itinerary!"

Justin grins at her. "That's amazing, Moll, good for you guys."

"Thanks," Noah says. Then he looks at Craig and says meaningfully, "And thank you, Craig. It's really... it's so incredibly generous of you."

Craig grins and hugs Noah, then Molly. "It's my pleasure. You two have a great time, okay? Let me know if there's anything you need."

Justin is stunned into speechlessness. This time, the realisation doesn't just hit him square in the chest - it blasts straight through. It takes every shred of willpower that he can scrounge up not to lose it right then and there. He holds himself together, forces a smile at Molly and Noah, and wishes them a safe trip. They hug him, then hug Craig again, then step into the elevator. As the doors close, Justin is left alone with Craig in the abandoned lobby. Other than one lonely receptionist and an exhausted looking bellboy, it's just the two of them. For the first time this weekend - hell, maybe the first time  _ever -_ it's exactly what Justin wants.

He watches the elevator dial ascend to the top floor and waits for a good ten seconds. Once he's convinced that Molly and Noah are well and truly out of earshot, he turns to his father and snarls, "Are you fucking kidding me?!" 


	8. Comfort

_That's it. It's all at an end._

As Daphne gazes around the empty ballroom, she feels like she could collapse with relief. Sure, she still has a solid hour of cleaning to handle, but that seems like a minimal task compared to the monumental effort she's gone to over the past three days. Daphne decides to celebrate - she grabs one of the last remaining slices of cake and pours herself a glass of wine, then sits down to enjoy them until Justin comes back to help her tidy up.

The moment she sits down is when the yelling starts. 

"Are you fucking kidding me?!"

Daphne groans, throws back her entire glass of wine in one go, and drags herself out of her seat. As she strides towards the lobby, she berates herself harshly for being foolish enough to leave Justin and Craig unattended. They've been approaching boiling point all weekend, plus, both of them drank their combined body weight in hard liquor tonight. Of fucking course it's deteriorated into a fight, just like she should have known it would.

"-what did it all add up to - like, a hundred grand? More? What the fuck is the matter with you?!"

"I really don't see what this has to do with you, Justin, this is about your sister-"

"You're absolutely right - it is about her! It's about how you give her staggeringly preferential treatment because she's straight and she's your perfect little princess-"

"Oh, grow up! The sibling rivalry got old a week after we brought Molly home from the hospital; it's just plain embarrassing now."

"I have grown up, no fucking thanks to you! You can pat yourself on the back all you like for being a good father to Molly, but you were an atrocious father to me. I just hope she figures it out for herself one day!"

"Figures out what exactly?"

"That you're a spineless, heartless, hateful asshole-"

"-and yet you seem perfectly content to demand my money!"

"I don't want or need your money! That's not what this is about! I'm perfectly capable of providing for myself now."

"Then what the hell are we even talking about?!"

As Daphne rounds the corner into the lobby, she stops dead in her tracks. They're by the elevators, right in each other's faces, shouting at each other with brutal animosity. They've accrued a small, fascinated audience - the receptionist is watching with rounded eyes and the bellboy looks positively thrilled by the conflict. They don't even seem to be contemplating intervening; they seem perfectly content to watch Justin and Craig rip each other to pieces. Daphne throws a disgusted look their way but it goes unnoticed - they're both captivated by the spectacle that is Craig looming over Justin, and Justin shouting accusations at him. Daphne marches over as quick as her feet will carry her and forcibly pulls Craig away from Justin.

"Do you mind?" Craig glares at her lividly. "This has nothing to do with you, Daphne, stay the hell out of it."

Justin very nearly lunges at him as he barks, "Don't talk to her like that!"

"Justin, stop." Daphne grabs his arms and gently pulls him to one side. He feels rigid with tension and she worries that he might crack at any given moment. She can't catch his gaze because he's glaring past her at Craig, but she holds his arms gently in her hands and whispers, "Stop."

Justin tears his gaze away from Craig to gape at her incredulously. "But he-!"

"Aren't you a little old for the blame game?" Craig sneers, shaking his head. "Christ, Justin-"

Daphne rounds on him and hisses, "Shut your mouth right now."

Craig immediately clamps his mouth shut. It's probably a serendipitous byproduct of his shock rather than an act of respect, but Daphne still elects to take it as a victory. She turns back to face Justin and implores him, "Let's go upstairs and forget this, okay?"

"How am I supposed to forget this?" Justin demands. Then, raising his voice even louder, he accuses, "He's a selfish bastard who-"

As Daphne grips his arms tighter, she cuts him off abruptly and says quietly but firmly, "This isn't going to change anything. It's like screaming into a void - he might hear you, but he's not listening."

Justin flinches a little at that. She steps in closer to him and continues, "It's been sixteen years. He hasn't changed his mind in that time, so he's sure as hell not going to change it now. You're wasting your breath."

He stares at her for a while, his gaze occasionally flicking back towards Craig. Then the firey anger fades, only to be replaced by dim defeat. Justin looks away from both of them and murmurs, "You're right. This is fucking pointless."

He breaks out of Daphne's grasp and stabs the button to call the elevator. Daphne touches his arm with a light brush of her fingers, then turns to Craig and says icily, "The ballroom needs to be tidied within the hour. Molly's instructions are waiting for you on Table 16."

Craig stares at her defiantly for a moment, but then that diminishes. He sighs and nods. "Fine."

The elevator chimes and the doors slide open. As Justin steps inside, he mutters snidely, "Anything for Molly, right?"

"Justin-" Craig draws in a deep breath, pinches the bridge of his nose, then exhales unsteadily. "I tried, okay?"

Daphne makes a feeble attempt at manhandling Justin into the elevator, but he evades her and holds the doors. She sags against the elevator wall and watches helplessly as Justin stares at Craig. The tension-riddled silence is broken by Craig's strained reiteration: "I really tried with you."

The doors jolt, trying to close, but Justin holds them fast. For a while, he doesn't say anything. Then, in a strange sort of voice, he refutes, "No, you didn't. What the fuck do you think you've done that even comes close to 'trying'?"

This demand is met with dead silence.

Once again, the doors thrust inward and rattle as Justin blocks them from closing again. "Look... I get that I'm not the easiest person to deal with. Trust me, I'm very well acquainted with that fact. I know it can take a lot to deal with my shit. Ask mom, or Brian, even Daph - I'm sure they'd all agree that I can be really fucking difficult. The difference between them and you is that they tried.  _Really_ tried. They all made a concerted effort to stand by me. You didn't. Don't fool yourself; you gave up on me. You treated me like shit. You chose Molly over me. You..."

He bites his lip. Daphne winces; it looks like he's close to drawing blood.

"... forget it. Just forget it." Justin swallows, steps back inside the elevator, and mutters, "Let's go."

Daphne hits the button for his floor and breathes a long sigh of relief as the doors slide closed. She tries to ignore the shadow that flashes by; cast by Craig, it almost looked like he was moving towards the elevator as though to stop it.

But that can't be.

*

Once they're upstairs, Justin refuses to talk about it. He heads straight for bed, and as he's hurrying to kick off his shoes and loosen his tie, he calls back to her, "You can stay. I have no goddamned idea where Brian is, so..."

Daphne smiles sadly as he trails off. He sounds utterly lost. She watches Justin carefully whilst unpinning her hair and slipping out of her shoes. He's curled up in bed and is toying with the TV remote, as though he's trying to decide whether to turn it on or not. Eventually, he tosses it aside and burrows his face into the pillows. Daphne eases into bed next to him and curls up around him. 

"Hey," she whispers. 

"Hey," he whispers back.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Daph, _please-"_

"What the hell are these doing here?" She pulls a handful of condoms out from under the pillow and tosses them at him.

Justin bursts out laughing. "Uh, I like to have them handy?"

"That's some innovative thinking," she teases, grinning as he laughs into the pillow. There's an edge of desperation to it, as though it's this or crying. Daphne strokes his arm gently and kisses his shoulder. She plucks the scattered condoms up and sets them on the nightstand, then prompts tenderly, "Let's get some sleep."

"Yeah." Justin turns on his side and snuggles back into her embrace. As he lets out a shuddering sigh, she pulls him closer, hoping that it will offer him some solace.

"Justin?"

"What?"

Daphne stares at the back of his neck. Every time he speaks, it sounds fragmented. She holds him closer and says softly, "Maybe I have had to try sometimes... but it never really felt like it. Not with you."

"Love you," is all he says. His voice is ever so slightly less fragmented.

Daphne smiles to herself and replies, "Love you, too."

She soon feels him drifting off in her arms. Once Justin is asleep, fatigue soon encapsulates her. Daphne closes her eyes and sinks into a deep, peaceful slumber.

*

A little while later, she's roused by someone draping a blanket over her and Justin. Daphne looks up and sees Brian. Behind him, the clock on the bedroom wall ticks over to 4am. She opens her mouth to ask him where the hell he's been, but Brian touches his finger to his lips and nods at Justin, who's still fast asleep. 

Daphne nods and watches as he crosses to the other side of the room. He removes his tie and belt, then sits down on the edge of the bed to take off his shoes. She watches him through sleep-clouded eyes as he sets the shoes aside, then leans forward with his elbows propped on his knees. For a few seconds, Brian sinks his head into his hands. Daphne listens as he draws in a breath deeply, slowly, and carefully. He remains still for a few seconds, then all at once, he exhales and turns around to slip into bed beside Justin. The muted light coming through the window falls across his face, revealing wet lashes and tear-streaked cheeks.

Daphne reaches over, just far enough that she can touch his arm. He turns onto his side and gazes at her for a while, then at Justin. Eventually, he closes his eyes. She almost pulls her hand away, but then Brian grasps it in his and holds it close. She curls her fingers around his and closes her own eyes.

As Daphne begins to drift off again, she is distantly aware of his fingers tightening around hers in a sort of plea for comfort. Her last, lingering thought before slipping off to sleep is whether he'll be able to join her, given that he looks so deeply distraught.


	9. Extraction

_In case you haven't noticed, I took your wallet. You'll get it back when you're honest with me. Whenever you feel like manning up and talking to me, you can find me by the lake._

As Brian storms out of the ballroom and through the lobby, he continues staring at Gus' text in absolute outrage. The nerve of the little bastard! Brian has always known his son to be cunning and devious, but really - stealing? Blackmailing?! What the  _fuck?!_

If only there were something nearby that could be easily destroyed. Brian's fury is demanding to be destructively indulged, but all he has on him is his phone. He's tempted to throw it on the paving and stomp it to pieces, but then he'd be without any way to contact Gus. And Gus is a slippery little fucker - he could easily abscond and hide, and then what would Brian do?

So to avoid temptation, he shoves his phone in his pocket and cuts across the grass surrounding the lake. It's difficult to see this late at night - the pathway lights are too dim, and the moon is shrouded by thick clouds. It takes Brian a while to spot Gus - he's sitting on the small pier across the other side of the lake, with his legs dangling into the water.

Just the sight of him infuriates Brian. He's never been this angry with Gus before - it's a strange and unwelcome feeling, but a persistent one. He strides around the circumference of the lake until he reaches the pier. Gus must have seen or heard him approaching, but he doesn't look up - he's scowling stubbornly at the water. Brian stomps towards him, his footfalls echoing against the wooden walkway, and stops short at Gus' side. Still, Gus doesn't flinch or even pay him any attention.

Brian supposes that it's an attempt at payback. It's pretty effective - it stings to be ignored by the kid, even if he is furious with him.

Still, he's not going to let Gus know that. Brian holds out his hand and demands in his most forceful tone, "Give me my wallet right the fuck now."

"It's not here," Gus says simply as he swishes his feet through the water.

"Where the hell is it?"

"Did you even read my message properly?" Gus snaps his head up and glares at Brian. "You'll get it back when you keep your promise to me."

Brian stares at him intently. It's like looking in a mirror - more so than ever before. He very nearly winces at the sharp kick of realisation that Gus looks most like him when he's angry. 

He surmises that there are two options: give Gus what he wants, or don't. Brian can feel a small tug luring him towards the former, but fuck that - the kid has crossed a line. It wouldn't do to encourage this sort of shit.

Also, he really doesn't want to have this conversation. His aversion to it is almost painful. It was hard enough opening up to Justin, for fuck's sake, and he trusted that Justin could handle it - could handle  _him._ Gus, on the other hand... Brian doesn't know. He doesn't want to find out. He doesn't want to open his kid's eyes to hideous home truths that deserve to stay buried.

No, he can't talk to Gus. He never should have promised to in the first place. It's too fucking risky.

So Brian drops his hand and shrugs. "You know what? Keep it. When you're ready to apologise, you can find me upstairs - I'll be cancelling my credit cards."

Then he turns and leaves. He swears he can hear Gus' jaw drop. It feels wrong to walk away from his son, but like fuck is he going to stick around and be extorted.

Unfortunately, Gus is nothing if not tenaciously stubborn. He chases after Brian and yells, "Why should I apologise?!"

Brian keeps walking. "You'll apologise, or I'll be calling your mothers so that they can ground you."

Gus cries out indignantly and dives in front of Brian, then weaves back and forth, blocking his path. "Why would they ground me?! They'll be on my side! Once I tell everyone what an asshole you're being, they'll _all_ side with me - Jus included!"

With a sharp burst of laughter, Brian retorts, "Justin won't take your side. Trust me on that."

"You don't know that!" 

"Yes, I fucking well do!" Brian glares at his son and seethes, "It's not news to any of them that I'm an asshole. But you stealing and attempting to extort me-"

"-for information that's rightfully mine!"

"-is un- _fucking_ -acceptable. I guarantee you that they'll all agree with me on that." Brian holds his ground as Gus steps in closer to glare at him with unreserved enmity. "So here are your options: apologise and give my wallet back, or go back to Toronto tomorrow and face whatever punishment the four of us decide is appropriate."

"Mom and Jus won't let you," Gus says, his voice a fraction smaller than it was a moment ago.

"Mel sure as fuck will," Brian snaps. "And I think you'll be surprised - 'mom and Jus' know exactly why I don't want to talk to you about this. I don't think it'll take much for me to win them over."

Since that's that (or - at least - it ought to be), he goes to leave again. But as Brian swiftly navigates around Gus, he's interrupted by Gus calling out, "So that's it? You're not even going to compromise?"

He halts and turns back to look at his son. "What exactly would the compromise be?"

"I give you back your wallet and apologise, and you tell me about our family."

Brian meets Gus' pleading gaze. He ignores the stabbing guilt within and says firmly, "No."

"Why not?!"

"Because I'd rather spend the rest of the night cancelling my cards than discuss those people with you. They're not your family, they're not mine either. They're not worthy of discussion." Brian eyes Gus meaningfully and adds, "You're a smart kid. Give it some thought - I'm pretty sure if you do, you'll be able to figure out why that might be."

Then he turns and leaves. He blocks out Gus' cry of protest - something about being left with scraps of puzzle pieces - and marches back towards the entrance to the lobby. He'll go inside, grab Justin, and pour all of his frustrations into another quick and dirty fuck. Or maybe he'll go straight upstairs and start the tedious process of freezing his cards until his wallet is safely returned, whilst getting outrageously drunk.

But then he hears Gus sobbing.

Brian stops dead in his tracks. He  _knows_ those sobs. They're purely for show. Gus is good at shit like that - he's been conning people into sympathising with him since he was about six years old. He's too old now to pull the doe-eyed thumbsucker routine, but he can still whip up a batch of bullshit tears and reap the rewards.

It's a manipulative little act, but it's a good one nonetheless. Even though he knows that it's a melodramatic cry for attention, Brian falls victim to it. He can't stand hearing his kid cry, whether it's real or not.

He sighs and reels around. Gus is sitting under a nearby tree crying into his knees, which are pulled to his chest. It makes him look half his age. Brian sighs and storms back towards him.

"I'm not falling for the crocodile tears," he says, frowning down at his manipulative spawn.

Gus brings his act to an abrupt halt. Icily, he imparts, "You're not worth the real ones."

It's like being struck. In truth, Brian would prefer that - he remembers what it was like to be hit by his father, and that was far less painful than hearing Gus dismiss him. For a moment, he's forcibly reacquainted with the memory of his father's hand colliding with his face, cracking across the skin hard enough to break it. Brian almost wishes he could go back to that. It would be easier than this.

Then again, if he were able to go back, there are so many other points to which he ought to return. Maybe a few weeks ago, so that he could stop himself from impulsively promising Gus impossible things. Or maybe a few nights ago, so that he could stop himself from ruining his relationship with his kid. Gus used to look at him as though he hung the moon. Brian lived for that dreamy, adoring expression that would light up his kid's face. It's long gone now. It's so far from this present reality that he almost wonders if he imagined it. 

As he stands there - reeling, aching, just shy of falling apart - Gus glances up at him. For the first time all weekend, they exchange an entirely honest look. There's no attempts at avoidance, no anger, not any of that - it's just anguish, pure and simple. He sees it in Gus and knows that Gus is seeing it in him.

Brian caves. He sits down, takes Gus' hand in his, and gets ready to tell the truth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that this chapter is on the shorter side - it was originally planned to be longer, but as I wrote it I found that it wanted to head in a slightly different direction. The next chapter will definitely be very lengthy though! I promise it's not too far away now :) 
> 
> Thank you for all of the thoughtful and inspiring feedback so far. I feel so lucky to have such amazing readers!!


	10. Revelations

"Are you sure you want to hear this?"

Gus nods his head vigorously without delay.  _Finally_ he's gotten through to his dad.  _Finally_ he'll hear the truth.  _Finally-_

"Because once you hear it, you can't go back." 

Gus looks at their joined hands and frowns. "What is that supposed to mean?"

For a while, his dad only stares off into the distance. Gus edges a little closer to him. When this isn't met with rejection, he even leans against him a little. It's then that his dad explains, "Okay, well, look at it this way... there was this one night, years ago, when Justin told me something. He'd kept it to himself for years and then suddenly decided to tell me. I mean, I was grateful that he trusted me and all, but it was hard to hear and harder to deal with. There are still days when I wish I didn't know. It's easier not knowing."

Alarmed, Gus asks, "What did Jus tell you?"

"That's not for me to say," his dad retorts swiftly. He frowns, then adds, "Actually, it's not for you to know at all. There are some things that you don't need to know about. There are others that have nothing whatsoever to do with you. What I said just now, that was an example. You don't need to go pulling at that thread, okay?"

Gus shifts his weight so that he's propped against the tree trunk again. "So which of those bullshit categories do you think our family-"

"Stop calling them that," his dad snaps with unprecedented severity. "Stop it. They're not our family."

"But you -  _we -_ came from them."

 _"You_ didn't come from them."

He spits it out as though it's an ugly theory that deserves to be cast aside. Gus doesn't understand - they are family, aren't they, if only in a really literal sense? They share DNA. Of course he came from them. Sure, he's never paid much mind to biology where family is concerned, but that doesn't mean that he wants to ignore his bloodlines completely.

"I don't understand," he admits, which immediately makes him feel vulnerable. Fortunately, his dad is still clasping his hand. It offers a sliver of comfort for Gus to cling to.

Things are quiet for a while. It's like his dad is searching for the right words or maybe summoning the courage to speak them. For a while, there's only the wind pushing across the lake, making the water lap gently, and leaves rustling. One falls from above and lands on Gus' knee. He picks it up and twirls it between his thumb and forefinger, then flicks it away and watches it float off with the breeze.

As he waits out the silence, Gus watches his dad's thumb smooths over his knuckles, gently forming spirals. He continues doing so, over and over, and it starts to eradicate the hurt burdening Gus.

Whilst weaving another one, which starts off small at the centre and grows as it slowly spools outwards, he says, "My father used to bend my fingers back. Sometimes - well, most times - he would come home drunk and he'd want to know something. Whether my mom had finished cleaning the house or not, or whether Claire and I had been behaving ourselves. Shit like that. I'd answer right away but he'd never believe me, so he'd grab my hand and bend my fingers back until I begged him to stop. Sometimes, if I'd lied, he'd get the truth out of me then stop. Other times, he wouldn't believe that I'd been telling the truth all along, so he'd keep going. He'd never break them, though, because he knew people would notice."

The hurt that had been fading only moments ago returns full-force in a violent, agonising bloom of pain. Gus stares at his father in horror. He stares right back and says, "That's what it was like. Do you want me to keep going?"

"No," Gus says, shaking his head. "But I think I need you to."

His dad looks away and nods, somewhat vacantly. Gus is forced to wait out another long silence; this time, it's excruciating. He can't hear the lake rippling or the leaves rustling. He can't see or feel his dad's thumb caressing his knuckles. All he can think about is fingers being bent back, pain radiating along them, the sound of pleas and cries muffled by loud shouts, all of it permeated by the scent of liquor.

"He died when you were a baby," his dad explains. It sounds like a promise: _you don't have to worry about him._ Gus is relieved, at least until the story continues. "He was a miserable drunk and an abusive piece of shit."

"Were you scared of him?"

"I was terrified."

Gus can't imagine his dad being scared of anything. He can't stand the idea of him being terrified of his own flesh and blood. He imagines his dad, small and fragile, so filled with fear that it was crackling under the surface of his skin. The image ignites an overwhelming protective urge within Gus; it's a shame his grandfather is dead, in a way, because Gus would really love to beat the shit out of him. He's not really the violent type, but he'd be willing to make an exception in the case of this abusive sicko.

Gus' blood continues to boil as his dad quietly proceeds with relating gruesome incidents. It's strange how matter-of-fact he is about it; Gus can't wrap his head around it. How can he possibly be so calm and collected when he's talking about being backhanded, and beaten, and abused for years on end like some meaningless, sub-human creature? 

His head fills with images: skin bruising, blood oozing, bones cracking. His dad's nose, blackened, split across the bridge, broken. He can feel every ache, every sting. He imagines what the fear must have felt like - the anger, too - and it frustrates him to realise that his imaginings may be mere fractions of reality. Maybe the fear and anger were bigger, uglier, more burdensome to his dad and his sister.

Claire. He has an aunt called Claire. He has an aunt called Claire who's a fucking bitch, who he wants to scream at, who he wants destroyed. Gus is so overwhelmed with rage that his filter slips. As his father rants, Gus carelessly blurts out, "So I'm guessing she's not anything like Aunty Daphne?"

He hears himself say it and instantly cringes. How fucking stupid. How fucking  _awful,_ to say something like that at a time like this. But as Gus begins to berate himself, his dad laughs.  _Laughs._ Like a proper laugh, like they're not currently engaged in the worst conversation of all time.

"No," he chuckles, "She's not anything like Daphne."

Gus' filter must still be out of commission, because he hears himself mindlessly quipping, "I'd ask if you think of Daphne as your sister, but you flirt with her way too much."

This time, his dad laughs even louder. It illuminates his face, wiping it clean from all the anguish. Gus suddenly feels all of five again, impossibly small, existing in a constant state of yearning to see his dad smile. He remembers thinking of it as a starlight smile, and right now he's reminded of why. He hooks an arm around his dad and leans in very close, trying to soak up the brief interlude of laughter, desperate to commit it to memory. For a moment, it drowns out the endless, echoing sound of bones creaking, crushing, cracking. It helps to fade away the fear and anger. It gives him room to breathe, room to remind himself:  _That's all over now._

But is it?

There's not much time to wonder. There's more to the story. He hears more about his grandfather, who Gus has trouble picturing as anything other than a drunken, violent, disastrous excuse for a man. He doesn't really have a face - Gus can only imagine him as some looming figure, features shadowed and obscured, his fists curled by his sides... then raising, tightening, flying forward, making brutal contact.

His grandmother, on the other hand - she's divided. A being split into pieces. Sometimes cowering, sometimes fighting back, sometimes wearing a convincing mask of normality, sometimes letting it slip to reveal her cruel nature. Gus thinks of her and longs for his mothers - just last week, he was ranting to Ruby about what nightmares they were being. He'll never use that word to describe either of them ever again. 

Nightmares. Monsters. Hateful cowards. That's what they are, that's who his 'family' is. These are the people who his father grew up around - but that's it. He wasn't loved, wasn't cared for, wasn't brought up in any meaningful sense. He was _dragged up_ by them, carelessly, cruelly, caustically. Gus never expected to be told some pleasant story, but he wasn't prepared for this brutal reality. 

He wants to go back. He hates himself for it. He hates himself for everything he's done to his father, who's already been put through enough. 

As his dad relates one final story ( _that's it for tonight,_ he warns, the words set in stone), Gus feels his stomach jolt with vicious nausea. Horrified by what's being revealed, he asks, "Did they ever apologise?"

His dad snorts. Gus has never heard him sound quite so bitter or resentful. He grabs his dad's arm, clings to it, and says, "I'm sorry."

He wants to say more, but that would let loose the tears he's been suppressing. He wants to say that he's sorry for what he did tonight, for pushing so hard, for being invasive and demanding to the point of cruelty. He wants to say sorry for the past few days, for surely tarnishing what might have been a perfectly lovely weekend. He wants to say sorry for all the years, months, days, hours, minutes, seconds,  _nanoseconds_ that his dad had to live through that hell.

But he can't quite get the words out. The swollen lump in his throat won't let him. Gus only barely manages to speak around it to repeat desperately, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," his dad says, holding him closer. 

But Gus doesn't think that's possible. Someone has to be sorry, and it has to be him. He burrows into his dad's side, seeking out solace from the regret flooding through him in sweeping, sharp, sickening waves. He feels like a little boy again, but for once that doesn't embarrass him. Actually, he rather wishes he could return to that time. His dad was right - it was easier not knowing.

*

When it's finally all out in the open (or so his father claims), they pick themselves up off the grass and head back to the resort. Gus is shaking a little; it doesn't have anything to do with the temperature, but he's grateful nonetheless when his dad drapes his suit jacket over his shoulders. They don't say anything. Everything has probably been said.

There is a very small part of Gus that keeps calling out:  _This isn't the whole story, there's more to it._ Gus ignores that voice. He doesn't need to know more. He doesn't want to. He knows enough now. His dad was right - those people are worthless. They don't deserve to be discussed any further. They ought to be cast aside into nothingness.

So he stifles that tiny little voice and focuses on holding himself together for the final few moments that they're together. His dad follows him to his room to make sure he gets back safely, then they make plans for meeting tomorrow so that Daphne can drive them to the airport, and then that's that.

He figures it's all done with once they've said goodnight to each other, but as he unlocks the door and steps inside, his dad blurts out, "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," Gus lies, tilting his chin upwards. He gives his father his best impression of a sincere look and insists, "I'm fine."

"Good."

Gus forces a smile at him and waves goodnight. Then he closes the door. As soon as it's locked, he crumbles against it and cries. He can't hold it in any longer. His head is full of nightmarish memories and horrific imaginings. He's filled to bursting with painful anger; anger which he'd love to indulge. He wants to hurt those people like they hurt his dad. He wants them to suffer and to realise how awful they all are. But that's impossible, so here he is - powerless, burdened with futile rage, and haunted by his dad's past.

Suddenly, his crying is interrupted by a knock at the door, which apparently isn't as thick or as soundproofed as Gus had thought. There's another knock, then a soft, desperate plea of, "Gus, let me in."

He opens the door in a heartbeat and dives into his dad's arms. They lock around him, tighter than Gus has ever felt before, and he sags into the embrace and weeps. He's not aware of much else - only the door closing and locking, giving them some privacy, and then his dad trembling against him. Is he crying? Gus can't handle his dad crying. He refuses to look up, he doesn't want to see it. It's awful enough feeling it - how he shakes, how his tears spill through Gus' hair. It's the worst feeling in the world.

"I love you," Gus mumbles, the words lost a little as they fall against his father's trembling shoulder. He tries again, more clearly this time: "I love you, dad."

"I love you, too," his dad says in a rush, as though he can't speak the words soon enough. He holds Gus tighter; it's on the cusp of painful, but it's helping to hold Gus together. He feels like he's about to fall apart at the seams and crumble into a helpless heap. His dad's strong arms locked around him are his saviour.

And so they stay, until Gus has cried himself out. When he's finally tearless, his dad releases him and nudges him towards bed, advising him to get some sleep. Gus doesn't look at him. He goes straight to bed and whispers goodnight, then closes his eyes and listens as his dad leaves the room. The door clicks shut. Gus waits.

He tries keeping his eyes closed. He tries falling asleep. But all he can think about his his dad trembling - in fear as a child, in sorrow tonight. Fresh tears arrive and spill down his cheeks. Gus buries his face in his pillow and tries to cry it out, even tries to _scream_ it out, but whatever 'it' is won't go. Whatever 'it' is, it's here to stay.


	11. Healing

"So he's flying in next Saturday," Brian explains, throwing an apologetic look Justin's way. "I know I said we'd spend it together-"

"Hold up," Justin interjects, baffled by this sudden switch. After almost an hour of listening to Brian recount what happened with Gus back in Pittsburgh, he's shocked, appalled, and now bewildered as to why Brian is now redirecting the focus to Gus visiting next weekend. He props himself up and stares at Brian. "I think we need to rewind a little. Are you telling me that our sixteen-year-old son stole from you and tried to blackmail you for extremely personal information?!"

"He's a devious little brat," Brian drawls, as though Gus' misdeeds were mere antics. 

Staggered, Justin gapes at him. "... I think that what you just told me goes ever so slightly beyond 'devious', Brian. We need to talk about this!"

Brian sighs softly and stubbornly focuses on averting his gaze towards the ceiling. "I was being an asshole. He responded accordingly. Anyway, he apologised. It's fine."

"You didn't talk to me about your family-" Justin cuts himself short as a grimace forms on Brian's face, and quickly amends, "-those people for, what? Sixteen years?"

"And wouldn't you say that was a bit too fucking long?"

"I would say that it was your right to decide when it was time to discuss such matters. Yes, it was difficult, but I managed to survive without manipulating you or-"

"I said it's fine," Brian snaps. Then he cringes and says more softly, "Don't worry about it. It's really fine."

"Is it?" It frustrates Justin when this query is met with little more than a mild shrug. Goddamnit! And he thought he had it bad, getting into a humiliating drunken fight with his asshole father. He'd had no idea how bad things were with Brian and Gus. It's somewhat unsettling that Brian is so deadset on forgiving and forgetting; Justin is almost convinced that that isn't good enough. But then, Brian has always been quick to make amends with Gus whenever they've fallen out.

As Justin studies Brian carefully and considers why that might be, it suddenly occurs to him that there's a far more pressing question at hand. He rests his hand on Brian's chest and asks gently, "Are you okay?"

There's that irritating shrug again. "He needed to know."

"Christ, do you have a flair for being evasive," Justin exclaims, shoving Brian lightly. "Do you want to try actually answering the question?"

"I'm fine," Brian says, somewhat limply. Justin doesn't know whether to attribute that to exhaustion or insincerity. Brian's defenses are back up - maybe not to the extent that they once were, but more than he's accustomed to these days. He knows exactly what's coming next; Brian's obvious attempt at redirection doesn't come as a surprise at all. Whilst eyeing him with evident concern, Brian asks, "Are you alright, Sunshine?"

Justin drops back down onto the mattress and quietly contemplates the disastrous weekend. It quickly leads to his headache worsening, so he decides to take a step back from dwelling. This leaves him without an answer to Brian's question, which he knows won't do, so he covers and lies, "Yeah. I'm alright."

"Bullshit," Brian retorts.

Even though it's quiet and tender, it pisses Justin off. He glares at Brian and snaps, "Right back at you!"

He wonders, momentarily, if this is going to descend into a fight. They're both in such terrible moods and there's nobody else around to target that frustration at. It's just the two of them again, which Justin thought he'd be glad for. He'd been longing for all weekend, in fact... but it's not going to be worth it if they're fighting.

He steels himself, waiting for Brian to return his glare or bark something at him, but all he sees is compassion in his husband's gaze. Brian moves closer, so that their arms are pressed together. The slight touch instantly comforts Justin. Brian then says, very softly, "You know it’s okay to be hurt, right? The way he's treated you isn't okay. You're allowed to be hurt."

"I’m not hurt," Justin denies instinctively, because he'd like to imagine himself as someone who's incapable of being hurt by someone so pointless.

But that's bullshit. He knows it and so does Brian.

"Yeah, you are," Brian scoffs. Then he rolls onto his side, rests his head in the crook of his arm, gazes intently at Justin and says softly, "I am."

Justin's heart jolts inside his chest. "You are?"

"Sure." Brian's gaze dips downwards. "It's not something that goes away. Fades, maybe, but..."

"But it still hurts," Justin finishes, nodding by way of confession. He knows Brian will understand. "Where?"

Brian smiles at him, although it's not really anything like a smile. "Everywhere."

Justin takes a deep breath and presses his thumb to Brian’s chin. “Here?”

As Brian hums in agreement, Justin presses a tender kiss to his chin. Then he drags his thumb down in one long, smooth graze, until he settles it in the hollow of Brian’s throat. “Here?”

Brian swallows, his throat moving fluidly under Justin’s thumb, then nods. Justin kisses the spot softly, lapping at it a little with his tongue. He touches his thumb to Brian’s collarbone, his shoulder, his forearm, his inner wrist, and covers all the hurt found there with sweet kisses. As their clothes come off, he continues his exploration, kissing Brian’s knees, all the way up his thighs, around his left hip, dipping into his navel. Finally, he comes to press his lips over Brian’s heart. He feels the  _thump, thump, thump_ of it pulsing against his mouth. He kisses that spot over and over, as Brian’s fingers drag through his hair.

It's  _not_ something that goes away. They may be back in New York, home again, far removed from all that ugliness - but Justin is still viscerally aware of its lingering presence. It doesn't matter that he's supposed to be all grown up now, or whether he's here at home or back in Pittsburgh. There are certain things that are as sure as the sun's inevitable rising and setting. His father doesn't love him and hasn't for almost seventeen years. That's half of his life now - essentially fatherless, and right now he can't figure out whether he chose that or whether he was forced to by cruel circumstance. And Brian - Brian, who grew up surrounded by poisonous, perilous people who battered and bruised him in so many more ways than one. Justin aches to think of it. He tries not to, mostly, because it ignites a vicious anger in him that he finds terrifying. Crippling, even, because there's nothing that can be done. He can't undo any of it. He can't go back and save Brian from that hell. He can't make it go away, no matter how much he wishes he could.

There is no undoing these things; they are truths that can't be unwritten. Then again, Justin has hope: hope that the pain will fade, hope that they'll be able to heal, hope that they'll do so together. The hope burns brightly within him; he clings to it, clutches it, holds it nice and close, nestling it in between him and Brian where it's safest.

As he touches his lips to Brian's chest and seeks out the thrum of his heart once more, he closes his eyes and imagines it: how wonderful it would feel to be healed.

**The End**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and thank you for all the thoughtful and inspiring feedback. I am so grateful to those who left comments and kudos - it means a lot! I've had a lot going on in RL lately and was really struggling to focus on my writing, so today I went back and re-read all of the comments and it was incredibly motivational. I hope that you've enjoyed this final chapter - there is more coming soon in the form of a follow-up fic, which will focus on how Gus copes with what happened. I'm hoping and aiming to post that shortly :)


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